#jokes aside though thank you for informing me of this because now my resolve to watch amphibia is even stronger!! <3

[haze-of-hyperfixations]

HAVE YOU SEEN AMPHIBIA YOU WOULD LOVE AMPHIBIA

AHHH HI BOBA!! I HAVEN'T!! I keep meaning to watch it, and I keep forgetting to actually start it!! But I ABSOLUTELY agree, from what i know of Amphibia, I think I would be SO obsessed with that show if i ever actually started watching it!!

you know my taste in shows so well askdljsld :)

[theimmaterialplace]

holding on | emily prentiss x reader & spencer reid x reader | ch. 2: falling

Chapter Summary: The morning after the reveal of Emily’s death and a conversation with Spencer.

Contains: mentions of cat-calling and panic attacks, light kissing, grief and mourning.

Word Count: 2.4k 

Comments: this fic is my new baby and i will nurture it to its end. this is gonna end up being a long story and emily won't reappear for at least another 25k so there's that! also look i gave a little flashback to their relationship! in case i didn't elaborate enough, spencer and reader are quite close and have known each other since elle left which ill get into in another chapter! so that's why she has some of his clothes and why he's so close to her and latching onto her. reader is going through it rn but she's shoving it aside which isn't healthy and not good in the long run so she'll have to adress it eventually but that's not now! she's kinda numb rn and trying to keep it together for spencer which is going... as well as one would expect.

i think my favorite line in this was "The song ends but the moment doesn’t." and "But all moments have to come to an end."next chapter, we'll be getting the rest of the bau team (yay!) and emily's funeral (💔)! reblogs and comments are highly appreciated! i love hearing feedback even if it’s something small!

also i’m gonna do a taglist for this fic so if you’d like to be added, send me an ask with the username you’d like to be tagged with!

masterlist | read on ao3

What am I now? What am I now?

What if I'm someone I don't want around?

I'm falling again, I'm falling again, I'm falling

What if I'm down?

What if I'm out?

What if I'm someone you won't talk about?

I'm falling again, I'm falling again, I'm falling

- Harry Styles, "Falling"

When the morning comes, you wake up first on your couch and feel a crick in your neck. The night’s memories rush back to your mind and you immediately feel nauseous. You manage to very carefully separate yourself from Spencer and manage to make it to the restroom in time to vomit.

It’s awful.

You don’t even know why it’s still hitting you so hard when Spencer is the one that should be feeling like this. He’s the one that’s known her for years and you were nothing but a fling for her.

You don’t glance at yourself when you exit your bathroom, already knowing the state you’re in. When you enter your living room, Spencer is still out so you decide to do the next best thing you can for him.

You’re thankful that you already have some leftover ground coffee beans from the day before because you really don’t want to wake him up before you can put a cup of coffee in his hands.  Going through the motions of making coffee and then a simple breakfast is calming.

You’re unsure if Spencer will be able to stomach anything if he’s anything like you are now so you make the lightest meal you can. When the coffee machine beeps, you grab two mugs and begin making the coffee the way he likes.

It’s as you’re making your own coffee that you’re interrupted by Spencer calling out your name. You turn around and find him rubbing his eyes and looking a bit better than when he first came in.

“Hey, Spence. I have some coffee if you want some,” you grab his mug at his nod and place it in his trembling hands, “it’s just how you like. Ninety percent sugar and cream and ten percent actual coffee.” A small smile crept onto his face at your joke and you’re glad you’ve managed to make him smile even if it’s just a little bit.

He sips on his coffee and you decide to plate the food that’s still warm onto your dining table. He follows and takes the seat across from you, mumbling his thanks. You both eat in silence for there are no words or fun quips to share with Emily gone.

Spencer is the first to break the silence. “Thank you… Thank you for last night. I couldn’t stay with my team after that. It was just too personal. I know I’ve mentioned it before but I’m the youngest of the team and though they mean well, they tend to baby me. I… I couldn’t handle it so I left them.” He pauses, fingertips tapping in a familiar tune on the ceramic mug, “I didn’t want to be alone and you’re the first person I thought of. I know you know… knew Emily and that you would just be there for me so thank you.”

He looks directly into your eyes as he says this and you know how serious this must mean for him so you reach out for his hand, which he extends for you, and squeeze it in your own. You have to articulate your response properly because you don’t want to scare him off by saying the wrong thing.

Maintaining eye contact, you speak, “I’m glad I was able to be there for you, Spencer. To be the first person you came to means a lot to me. I hope you know I’ll always be there for you, for the small and the big things. While I may not be as close… While I may not have been as close to Emily as you were, I will still grieve for her. Just knowing how much she meant to you is enough for me to know how much a beautiful person she was. From the little glimpses I’ve seen of her and the tidbits you’ve told me over the years, I know this is going to be one of the hardest things for you… and if you let me, I’d like to be there for you.”

He’s like an open book after you’ve told him your resolve, like the book you’ve reread more times you can count and the original copy has been worn down due with some of the passages long gone but memorized in your heart. His eyes are watering again and he’s out of his seat faster than you can comprehend and he lifts you up and his arms wrap around you tightly, as if you’re his lifeline.

He whispers words of gratitude into the crown of your head and you hold him back just as tightly, tears springing to your eyes. You’d do anything to take his pain away and if this is all you can do then you’ll do it willingly.

“I want you here,” his voice is low and wrecked, “I.. I don’t want to be alone. Please. Please don’t leave me. Everyone leaves, Please…”

You look up to him and grab his face gently in your hands, wiping the tears from his cheek as you say, “I’m not leaving, Spencer. I’m right here. I’m here for you always. I promise not to leave you. I’m with you. I’m here.” At this, he looks even more broken and only nods his head, breath hitching and his sobs ceasing for the moment. You know it’s not enough for him so you guide one of  his hands to the pulse on your wrist.

“Count.” And he does, his mind focuses on the beat and it calms him; it reassures him you’re still alive.

When the minute is over, he looks significantly more calm and less likely to cry again. He looks at you like he can’t believe you’re really there and you pull him in again. Physical contact is meant to ground people and you only hope this helps him.

A shrill ring interrupts your thoughts and you know it’s Spencer’s because you’ve heard it many times before from him and Emily both.

He lets go of you to answer it and he tenses immediately as he hears whoever it is on the other line. He says a few things in response and his eyes become glassy again. He hangs up only a few moments later and turns to you.

“My team wants me to help inform Emily’s mother of her death so we can start planning her funeral…” He closes his eyes shut and his fingers clench into his palms. Slowly, you walk up to him and unfold his palms and find red, crescent indents on his palms.

“I can drive you…? I know you took the metro here. Let me help, Spencer.” He just nods and you lead him to the bathroom to help tidy him up. You turn the faucet on and hand him his toothbrush, your fingers lingering on Emily’s red one before grabbing your own. It’s a familiar routine and as you finish, you leave to let him use the restroom and wash up while you rack through your closet to find something he's left over to wear for the day.

You manage to find a striped brown button up and matching brown pants while you put on a simple outfit, a grey long sleeve with jeans and a pair of black vans. You knock on the door and he opens it after a moment and takes his clothes from you. You go back to your room to fix up your hair and after a while you deem it acceptable.

As you’re doing your makeup routine, you hear a knock then, “Are you decent?”

“Come in, I’m almost done.” The door opens and you catch his reflection in your mirror. He looks better but the despair that clings to him is obvious to you.

He lets a small smile fill his face and though it doesn’t reach his eyes, you still match it. “I’m surprised you still had this. I had wondered where this outfit had gone but I remember that when I stayed over that night I had to leave immediately and left it here.”

“Well, I wouldn’t just throw it away and I kept forgetting to give it back to you. It’s a good thing otherwise you’d be left in some sweatpants and a Star Trek t-shirt.” He lets out a small laugh at that and you’re grateful you’re able to get him to genuinely laugh.

“Okay, I’m done. We can head out now.” He follows you out of your apartment and into the passenger seat of your car. The ride is silent to Quantico, unlike the usual rides you give him where you play a new genre for him and for him to compare it to his classical music and talk about some facts of the music.

When you finally arrive, you both sit there. He doesn’t want to leave and face reality and you don’t want to be left alone with only the truth to haunt you.

Spencer breaks the silence once again, “Thank you for everything. I don’t know where I would’ve gone last night… If you can, can you pick me up later? I… I can’t be with the team right now. It’s just too fresh.”

“Of course, Spencer. Just send me a text a bit before and I’ll be there.” He nods and gives you a quick hug before leaving and your eyes follow him until he’s nothing but a pinprick in your vision.

Like a switch flipped, you can only think of Emily. It’s not fair that she… that Emily is gone, that’s she’s dead. You never thought this was a probability. She was always such an impervious figure in your mind, a larger than life kind of person. You knew it was a possibility in her line of work but it never crossed your mind that it could actually happen to her. She was a strong woman, never letting anything affect her and you can’t believe she’s gone.

You shouldn’t even feel this strongly for her, you’re not meant to be more than a friend to her but you can’t help but think of her as your lover. Every little moment you’ve shared with her flashes in your mind. One in particular stands out, one that had happened only a month or two ago.

“Ugh, Emily. We’ve gotta go or else tomorrow morning is gonna be hell for the both of us.” You drag her away from the bar and shoot a smile at the bartender who only shakes her head and mouths “have a nice night”.

“ No ,” she whines, “I don’t want to, babe. We were having so much fun. Let’s stay here and dance some more.” She grins at you, taking your hand and pulling you back into the crowd. You let her because you can never say no to her, not when she’s looking at you with those eyes and that smile.

Her mood is infectious and you let her have this one last dance. It’s not even a song you know but you think it might be your new favorite with the way she twirls you around and looks at you with affection and fondness.

Being with Emily is the best thing that’s ever happened to you, even if this is a temporary thing. You would do anything for her, even leave her alone if that’s what she wanted.

The song ends but the moment doesn’t.

“Okay, okay, Em. We really need to go now.” She pouts at you but relents and follows you out of the club.

Before you reach your car, she pulls you in, her hands cradling your face, and she’s looking at you in wonder, “Y’know I can’t believe you’re actually here. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted. You mean so much to me. I hope you know that.” She leans in and kisses you. You savor every moment of it, feeling her smile against your lips. Like an imp, she grins widely and leaves multiple pecks around your lips, never quite touching.

It’s just you and her in that moment and she’s never seemed more lovely than in that exact moment.

Deciding that her actions are enough, you grab her by the chin and your free arm wraps around her waist so that she’s flush against you and slam your lips onto her own. Every emotion you’ve felt for her is poured into the kiss and you hope she can feel it. It’s passionate and messy and it leaves you wanting more.

She lets out a small moan when you move your mouth to pepper kisses onto her jaw and to suck on her sweet spot, sighing praises into her skin as if they’ll imprint on her, an irrefutable claim.

You’re not sure how much time passes between that moment but you only stop when you hear multiple wolf whistles and she groans before pulling away from you and yells at the offenders, “Shows’ over, you fucks!” Then she turns to you and leers, “We’ll finish this back at my place.”

You’re only able to nod and look at her in awe,  “Emily Prentiss… what a woman you are. I’ll never be able to forget you know?”

She smiles even wider at your admission, and beckons you forward and of course you come closer and she admits quietly, “You won’t ever have the chance to. I plan on never letting you go.”

But all moments have to come to an end.

If only that was the truth because she never brought up the conversation the morning after. Whether she actually remembered it and shoved it aside or she genuinely couldn’t remember, you can’t decide what’s worse. You never mention it because you don’t want to ruin something that already works and now… Now you would never have the chance to find out because Emily was dead.

Tears well up in your eyes and you recognize the signs of an oncoming panic attack. It’s with a wet laugh that you realize that you were right, your dramatic thoughts from the night she texted you had come true.

Emily Prentiss would haunt you forever and you’ll let her if it means you’ll never forget what she sounded like or what each gleam in her eye or each smile meant.

[cyhyr]

Summer of Whump Day 16: Touch Starved

Fandom: Naruto

Rating: G

Pairing: Hatake Kakashi/Umino Iruka, pre-relationship

WC: ~1870

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

A/N: Are y'all ready for some whumpy fluff??? Cuz I got some kinda cavity-inducing treat here for those that're into that.

~

In theory, Kakashi should have been assigned a touchstone during his ANBU service. Looking back, he’s ambivalent about how he feels on the subject. Sure, a touchstone could have been helpful if they were trained well and able to calm him down from the nightmares he had as a teenager; but he’s also historically one of the deadliest shinobi enlisted in ANBU and the possibility of accidentally killing a touchstone would have gotten him discharged early at best or put down because of a psychotic break at worst.

He doesn’t casually touch people, and hasn’t since his fist went through Rin’s chest ten years ago. He’s okay with this. He doesn’t want to touch people anyway—it registers a part of his instincts that equates touch with mission and he doesn’t like being “on” while in the village. Even Gai keeps a respectable distance unless they’re sparring, especially after the last time they had been walking through the village and brushed elbows and Kakashi flinched hard enough that two on-duty ANBU flickered into view on the rooftops.

But really, he’s fine.

~

Then he becomes a jōnin-sensei and formally meets Uzumaki Naruto and, by extension of Naruto, Umino Iruka. And see, after a week of training with the genin, he thought he’d gotten used to being casually touched again. Naruto, in particular, likes to take Kakashi’s palm in high-fives without permission and run circles around his legs like an over-excited pup. But Sasuke also will lean against him for a breath if no one else is looking, and Sakura is a hugger.

This does not prepare him for meeting his team’s old Academy teacher, who invites all of Team Seven—including Kakashi—to his home at the end of their first week for dinner. It seems odd that Naruto knows where everything is in the home enough to help Umino-sensei finish cooking and set the table; even more odd is Umino ordering Naruto around and Naruto following those orders without question. After the meal, Kakashi resolves to pick the man’s brain to figure out how he does that.

But then he notices how the man is moving around the kitchen; stiffly, limping, one hand bracing his lower back if he needs something out of his reach. And how Sasuke and Sakura are also hovering, asking if there’s anything they can do to help—and Kakashi realizes that he’s missing crucial information.

He gets the story about the scroll, the betrayal, and the fuma shuriken after dinner, while he’s helping Umino-sensei clean up. They had sent the genin out of the kitchen—Umino hadn’t wanted to recall it around them, worried it might “upset them”—so it was just the two of them in a tiny space.

And he’s not ready for it. Every time Umino passes behind him while Kakashi’s washing up at the sink, he presses a gentle hand to his upper back. Their fingertips brush occasionally when Kakashi’s handing Umino freshly washed dishes to dry.

His fucking laugh is a touch of its own.

Kakashi starts out tense but minutes go by and Umino doesn’t seem to recognize that his actions are distressing so Kakashi just… breathes through it. And relaxes. And lets himself feel.

And, gods, it’s nice.

~

It doesn’t stop. Umino—

“Iruka, please,” he smiles and it’s like sunshine after a month in the Land of Frost. “I’d like to think we’re friends, Kakashi-sensei, and my friends call me Iruka.”

“Then just ‘Kakashi’ is fine,” he replies—

He’s still wondering why he said that, but it certainly happened; it was at the Mission Desk and there were witnesses—

Anyway.

Iruka doesn’t stop with these friendly, gentle touches. But after that first night he is always careful to do them in places where no one else can observe Kakashi’s reactions, which Kakashi is immensely thankful for.

He doesn’t ever turn on Iruka, but there are some close calls. He once followed Iruka down into the archives and while they were down there he said something—likely a crass joke, remembering Iruka’s flush and that particular smile. In hindsight, Kakashi realizes that the jab on his arm was meant to mean oh gods why are you like this in an amused air; at the time, he froze and his heart had started pounding and he briefly saw Iruka as a threat.

Iruka didn’t move, either away or closer, just waited until Kakashi’s tension released. It took almost a minute. He did, however, continue speaking; going into a story about Naruto and Shikamaru from their earlier days at the Academy. Once Kakashi was back to himself he stuck his hands in his pockets and Iruka finished his filing in the archives, walking around again as though he hadn’t just been in potential danger.

Kakashi wonders if Iruka has touchstone training. He wonders if Iruka would entertain being his touchstone; but, no, he’s not ANBU anymore, he doesn’t need one anymore.

~

It’s too much.

It’s not enough.

~

One day after training his team, he catches sight of Iruka lounging in the grass by the river, reading a novel. The sunset warms the deep tones of his skin even more than usual and Kakashi groans because he’s been psyching himself up to do something like this for weeks and here, here is the perfect chance. And he could absolutely keep walking down the road and keep his hands and body to himself and Iruka would be none the wiser; and even if he does find out, Iruka will never hold it against him or call him a coward.

He can do it. He takes a few steps down the hill.

He can’t do it—he turns back up to the road and puts his face into his hands. He resists groaning, as that would alert Iruka to his presence and then he’s fucked.

He turns back around and looks at Iruka, turning the page of his book and tucking an arm under his head. Gods, he’s…

If I go down there, I’ll destroy him.

If I don’t, I’ll destroy myself.

Kakashi doesn’t whine, he doesn’t. He fought in the Third Great Shinobi War. He’s a hardened ANBU operative—retired, but. He’s one of the deadliest shinobi Konoha has on its roster. He can approach a chūnin Academy sensei, his friend, for no other reason than to just sit near him.

His legs move before he can form the thoughts to stop them, and he’s dropping into a cross-legged seat beside Iruka.

“Hello, Kakashi,” Iruka says. He sets his book aside and sits up, shifting so he’s more facing Kakashi. And gods that smile. “How are you?”

Kakashi finds that he can’t quite get the words out, and so just holds out a hand between them hoping Iruka will understand.

“Ah.” Of course, Iruka does. He slips his fingers between Kakashi’s slowly, giving him the chance to pull away if he needs. But Kakashi isn’t here for need; he’s here for want.

He pulls Iruka’s hand up to his cheek and presses into it, his pulse quickening.

“Kakashi, is everything alright?” Iruka murmurs.

He nods. The lump in his throat eases enough that he’s able to mutter back: “Exposure therapy. My apologies, sensei, for using you this way.”

Iruka’s palm is warm through his mask. He wishes he hadn’t done this in public, that he could feel Iruka’s hand on his bare face.

“I understand. I have done this before.”

“Y-You have?”

Iruka nods, shifts closer and lays his other hand on Kakashi’s shoulder. “I’ve had other friends in ANBU,” he whispers. “I was a touchstone for, ah, three years? For them.”

Kakashi can’t help the bubbling laugh. “I had wondered where you got these kinds of instincts, sensei.”

“It’s certainly not from teaching pre-genin.”

Iruka continues lightly stroking his shoulders and cheek where Kakashi placed his hand, until Kakashi fidgets and shifts and reaches up to rub at the back of his neck.

“I was wondering if—um—could you—that is—”

“Whatever you’re comfortable with,” Iruka nods.

“That’s just the thing,” Kakashi sighs. “I’m not comfortable with any of this.”

“Okay, so then just ask,” he says instead. “I promise, it’s neither the oddest request I’ve gotten, nor will I refuse you.”

Kakashi quirks an eyebrow and Iruka chuckles.

“I’ll tell you later. Ask.”

He takes in a deep breath and on the exhale says it at once: “CanIputmyheadinyourlap?”

Iruka takes a second to decode what he says, and then his grin widens and he turns back to where he’d placed his book. He shifts it further aside and situates himself better, and then nods, making a subtle come here gesture with the hand near his book.

Kakashi turns and just about falls into Iruka’s lap, now laying parallel to the river and looking up at the reddening sky. In the east, a few early stars are coming out. But here, on the riverbank, Iruka runs his fingers through Kakashi’s hair and it’s heaven. Fingertips from his other hand stroke gently down the side of Kakashi’s face and neck. After a few minutes, Iruka settles his arm over Kakashi’s chest in a loose embrace and it causes a hitch in his breath and a stutter in his pulse but—

But he’s with Iruka and he’s in the village and the fingers through his hair are so nice and he’s safe and Iruka’s safe—

He relaxes.

“Let me know if it’s too much,” Iruka says softly.

“This is wonderful, sensei,” Kakashi breathes. “You’re just enough. Exactly what I needed.”

Iruka lightly scratches at his scalp and Kakashi groans. The arm across his chest gets a little heavier and Kakashi notices but doesn’t care because he’s in the village and safe and with Iruka—

“Can I… um. No, nevermind.”

Kakashi opens his eye, looks up at Iruka, flushed in the sunset, and says, “Ask anyway?”

Iruka bites at his lip and hesitates, but Kakashi has all the time in the world right now. Eventually, the sun goes beyond the horizon and Iruka asks barely above a whisper, “Can I kiss you?”

He’s honestly surprised, thinking that he was the only one harboring a crush. But then he thinks about the sensitivity of lips on lips and tongue and teeth and being that close and I’ll destroy him—Kakashi stops that line of thought fast and clears his throat to fight off the bile wanting to rise. He swallows hard and says, “Not yet. I don’t know if I can—”

“Shh,” Iruka presses one finger to his lips over the mask; it’s excruciating. “You don’t need to explain yourself. A no is enough. I’ve got this,” gesturing to Kakashi, laid out beside him, and then threads his fingers back in his hair, “and I'm more than happy.”

Iruka eventually relocates them to his apartment, where Kakashi goes along quietly and eats what he’s given and washes up beside Iruka like he always does at the Team Seven dinners he hosts. And when they move to the living room and Iruka sits in the corner of his couch and pats his lap questioningly, Kakashi falls into place like a good soldier and spends the rest of the night trying not to tear up at how good it feels to be touched so carefully, so gently, so lovingly.

[mirthful-sonnet]

Rise Above the Ashes | Chapter 2

Summary: Jean and Mikasa grow closer while battling with their inner demons. Jean feels alienated in his own country and realizes in a brutal way that the Alliance’s endeavors for peace may be harder than he expected.

Notes:  Thanks once again to @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie for beta reading this and putting up with my fandoms cause she must be so confused what this is about lmao 

Warning: One short depiction of graphic violence

Ao3 link

“Stop moving.”

Mikasa froze, a startled look on her face as she tried to stay still.

Jean chuckled, turning back to his sketchbook. The afternoon was pleasant, with the bright sun profiled against a blue, cloudless sky. The only sounds were those of the light breeze and the strokes of graphite against paper.

The drawing was taking shape, the outlines of Mikasa’s likeness staring back at him from the page. He turned his eyes back onto Mikasa, and he thought that no matter how hard he tried he could never do justice to her actual beauty. She broke from her pose again and stared back at him. 

“Mikasa,” he said, both in amusement and disapproval.

Mikasa ducked her head and muttered an apology, trying to go back to her former pose once again, with her body slightly turned away from him while staring to the side. They had found a secluded spot while everyone else was back at the farm. Jean had been trying to spend more time with her since their encounter at Eren’s grave.   

He learned that she had a house near the farm while occasionally working as an informant for Historia and found himself as a constant guest along with Armin. The three of them had established a sort of routine in which whenever they had time they would meet up at her house and have dinner together. Jean would be lying if he said that being a part of this routine didn’t make him feel good.

Their current position in the grassy corner resulted from Mikasa catching him flicking through his old sketchbook. He did not plan on taking anything from his home in Trost when he reunited with his mother. But this sketchbook was a vestige from a time where there was much less violence and heartache in his life, and he took it with him.

There were portraits from most of the people he had met as a Scout. There was even a portrait of Eren, which Mikasa had stopped to stare at with an unfathomable look on her face before Jean broke the tension with a joke about what a lousy model Eren had been. It led to Mikasa asking him why he never drew a portrait of her, to which Jean could not offer any other explanation than that he had simply never worked up the courage to ask her.       

Now they were in this quiet spot, enjoying the peaceful afternoon together. He added the finishing touches before sitting more comfortably on the spread blanket and admiring his work.

“It’s done,” Jean said, and Mikasa turned to him. He gave her the finished drawing, awaiting her reaction. She appeared taken aback when seeing her portrait, staring at it for a long while before turning to him.

“It’s amazing, Jean,” she said, and Jean felt a little embarrassed at the frankness in her face, not knowing how to react. “I would only say that she’s too beautiful to be me.”

There was a jesting tone in her voice, but Jean immediately replied. “Then that means I did an accurate job.” 

Mikasa widened her eyes slightly before looking down, and  Jean mentally berated himself.

He had been careful not to make things strange between them, especially now that his feelings were messier than ever. The last thing he wanted was to make her uncomfortable. 

Jean had successfully locked away that part of himself when he realized the place Eren had in her heart. He resolved to be her friend and it had worked. Aside from that, he had certainly not wasted any time in seeking other companions. First during his years as a young Scout who was too curious and hormonal for his own good, and more recently as a glorified refugee in Marley with an uncertain status and plenty of need for pleasured distractions.   

He was ashamed when thinking about his time in Marley, as he remembered the phase he had fallen into which he was too numb from the war and had excessively sought out those distractions. Moments of bliss were fleeting, and they would only lead to him relapsing into the same pattern and making him feel worse than before. The entrustment of the peace negotiations between Paradis and Marley into the Alliance’s hands had brought hope and a change that he desperately needed.

Still, why was he feeling so confused around Mikasa now? What he felt now was an echo of his former crush, similar yet so different. Whereas before it had felt like a small ache that he kept hidden, now it felt like a flame slowly spreading and threatening to overwhelm him.  

“Earth to Officer Kirchstein,” Mikasa’s voice interrupted him, her hand waving in front of him.

“Oh, sorry, I got lost in my thoughts,” he told her, raising an eyebrow, “and I’m no longer a commanding officer, you know.”

Mikasa only smiled, laying back down on the spread blanket, her red scarf acting as her pillow. Jean was glad to see her smiling and acting with ease around him, since despite her calm demeanor he knew that she was still grieving no matter how much she tried to hide it. Sometimes he would catch her staring off into nowhere or holding her scarf a little tighter than usual. While he remained in this place, he was determined to be there for her as much as he could. 

“Do you know how much longer you will stay here?” she asked suddenly.

Jean paused before replying, taken aback by her question. “Our stay has been extended indefinitely; it depends on how things go at our sessions. Though in any case, I imagine we’ll have to leave soon.”

Her face fell, “I see,” she murmured. “What do you plan to do after this?”

“I…” he trailed off, “I don’t know. Wherever the Alliance goes, I will end up going too. But my mom lives here, and I don’t want to leave her alone. Then again, we are not exactly welcomed here. I’ll just see what happens, I guess.”

“What about marriage and children?” She asked, quickly regretting her forwardness. She was about to apologize but he spoke first.

“Oh, that. Well, I’m not too sure about that either. I always dreamed of having my own family, but things are still too strange and uncertain,” he paused, looking away. “I don’t think I can truly settle down anywhere because I don’t belong anywhere.”

Mikasa stared at him, that dazed look that he seemed to constantly wear coming back, as if he were lost in a place where she could not reach. She grabbed his sleeve impulsively. These days she found herself doing that a lot when Jean would appear too lost in his own head.

“It…It’s probably not much, but I want you to know that if you’re in a pinch or need anything, you’re always welcome at my house,” Mikasa told him, not sure where these words were coming from, but knowing they were true. It was the least she could do.

Jean was visibly shocked, his face flushed. “Thank you, Mikasa.” he whispered, avoiding her gaze. After a moment, he turned to her suddenly.     

“What about you? Do you have any plans?”

“I don’t think so, I like living here.” She explained, “Kiyomi and her delegation insist that I go to Hizuru but I’m not sure I’ll do that any time soon. I did want a family but…”

He understood. That was impossible now that Eren was gone. The meaning of her words hung over them, and Jean felt a weird kind of sadness overtake him. He knew Mikasa would have been an amazing mother. Despite whatever pain and jealousy remained in his heart, he realized that he would have liked to see his two friends together with their own family. A welcome respite after years of misery and destruction. But Eren had to run ahead of them and set himself ablaze.

“Well, you can consider us your family now,” Jean said, referring to their friends, and wanting to ease her mind.

Mikasa beamed at him, “I guess you are,” she replied, coaxing Jean to lay down beside her on the blanket and he complied. From the new angle, she could make out a scattering of tiny moles on his neck that was not covered by his shirt. She hadn’t noticed them before and found herself strangely transfixed before she heard him speak.

“I’ll tell you what, no matter what happens, we’ll always be there for each other.” he offered, turning his head to her. Mikasa paused, rendered a little speechless at the openness in his hazel gaze. In that moment, she had no choice but to agree with anything he said.

 ~0~

Jean pressed the timer and waited for Armin’s next move. The blond was scrutinizing the chessboard before moving a knight.     

“So this is it, the final countdown until we decide if we can stay or if we should be running for our lives,” Connie commented from his seat near the fireplace in the living room. The residence was bigger than they had remembered.

“The queen has ensured our protection,” Armin said, his gaze still fixed onto the board, waiting for Jean’s move.  

“With the same people who want us dead.” Connie spat.

All sectors of the government had finally agreed to a voting session in which they would vote on the proposals from the Alliance and other nations. Soon, they were to show up at council with other delegates from Marley who had also worked with them.

“It’s more complicated than that,” Reiner replied, his hands busying themselves tying knots with an old rope. It was a habit he had picked up during his treatment at the mental facility and he kept doing it long after he was discharged. He found the distractions helpful when his thoughts would become too much. “There are people who are strictly loyal to Historia, and she knows who they are and how to pick them.”

There was truth to what Reiner was saying. They had misjudged just how divided the island would be when they arrived. Currently, there were all kinds of factions and insurrectionists on the rise, from imperialists who wanted Paradis to establish itself as a global power and expand its territories, to reformers who were advocating an alliance with the other nations.

“Whatever supporters we have seems meaningless as long as the Yeagerist faction is still in power,” Annie added, watching the game between the two friends.    

Armin clicked the timer, unfazed, “We have had to deal with worse things; the liberation of Paradis started with a revolution from the Survey Corps, a group that was a mere minority and ridiculed by most. What we want to achieve isn’t impossible,” he paused, hearing a click from Jean. “This time we have the support of other influential nations and the protection of the queen, who is in turn protected by staunch monarchists.”

Jean listened quietly, a strange unease surging up within him. It seemed surreal that they had finally reached this point in their enterprise for peace between Paradis and Marley. They had worked tirelessly to present their motions to the government and recount their testimonies of the war which were carefully modified to protect Mikasa. The Ackerman had insisted on coming clean and bearing the blame for Eren’s death, but that suggestion was quickly shut down by Armin.     

The rumbling had not only practically wiped out other regions that now had no choice but start all over again, but it had also left a good portion of Paradis destroyed and still vulnerable, a point that the Alliance had used to their advantage in lobbying for a new coalition of trade between the nations.

Their main objective was to establish a peace treaty. It was the most talked-about subject all over the island, and it had brought feelings of hope but also plenty of hostility. While Jean had busied himself as much as he could in his new duties as ambassador, the reality was becoming clearer to him: that he truly belonged nowhere.

In Marley, things weren’t any easier for someone like him. While there were major changes happening in the Marleyan government and the internment zones were being eliminated, many areas were still heavily segregated and Eldians were still looked down upon.

Jean found it easy to interact with his peers in Marley sometimes. He had his share of friends, and there was the usual neighbor who would greet him, the lady who would bring him warm meals, or the lovers who didn’t seem to care he was Eldian.  But other times the animosity was obvious. Now he was experiencing the same feeling of ostracization, but it was worse because this was his home.

“Armin is right. The circumstances are too different now and we have a considerable advantage. For now, we must be patient and wait for the next hearing,” Pieck remarked from her place laying down on the sofa. Naps were becoming more common to her.

“I don’t have a good feeling about this,” Connie said, then gave a tired sigh, “it seems like the violence never ends.”

“That is a reality we have to accept,” Armin replied, clicking the timer once again. “I heard Commander Erwin say that as long as humanity lives, they will always find a way to destroy each other. That is an indisputable fact, no matter how much it irks us to hear it. The cycle will always continue in one way or another.”

“And what do we do meanwhile?” Jean asked, breaking his silence.

Armin stared at him, before moving a pawn, and finally replied. “We keep moving forward.”

~o~

Mikasa stared at her friends bantering back and forth on her dinner table. Tomorrow would be the voting session and she had invited the group to have dinner in her house before the important day.

She felt an odd peace while watching everyone talking and enjoying the food. Back in her days as a soldier, such scenes were rare, and when they weren't, there would always be the knowledge that they may not live for long.

While things were certainly not perfect at the moment, this was a welcome change. It seemed so long ago since she got to have moments like this. It was why she had appreciated having Armin and Jean visit her whenever they could. Their visits took her mind off the troubling thoughts that plagued her at night. They slithered onto her consciousness when she was alone and only she would bear witness. The burden of guilt she still felt over Eren’s death had been like a shadow trailing on her feet, a bitter seed that she couldn’t cut out.

There were days where she felt a semblance of peace, where the prospect of a new dawn seemed like a possibility. She remembered the strange bird she saw on Eren’s death anniversary and the feeling of grief and hope that had overwhelmed her as it flew away. Free and glorious. A promise of new things to come that she didn’t dare believe in. But other days, the shadows of her dreams would morph and speak in a familiar voice.

Traitor.

The wounds were clear cut, its shapes still engraved in every crevice of her heart. The bloodstains of the boy who she had loved unconditionally still ran endlessly through her very being. She wondered if she was being too selfish in daring to have peaceful moments like this.

A movement by her side caught her attention. Armin was currently sitting beside her, his presence serving as an anchor even while he was engaged in lively conversation with Annie.

She was glad he had found someone, even if it took her a while to get used to the idea of them being together.

He had changed so much, from that timid boy who wanted to see the ocean to a determined leader with the same quiet strength. Now he was leading an enterprise that had the world’s eyes on him.

She didn’t know how he could stand it, or how he even looked at her with anything but repulsion. He was carrying an incredible burden for her sake after all, and she could do nothing but watch helplessly from the sidelines, knowing he would never forgive her if she spoke the truth.

Useless.

Her thoughts froze when she noticed that he had turned to her.

His bright blue eyes were narrowed for a moment before he gave her a small smile, as if he knew what she was thinking, and squeezed her hand under the table.

Mikasa could only smile back at him, a quiet understanding between them.       

Currently, Reiner and Connie were engaged on a heated, drunken debate about whether cereal should be considered soup or not, having Pieck laughing uncontrollably while Annie looked like she would rather be somewhere else. For all that was troubling her, she liked seeing everyone happy.

One person was visibly quiet, and Mikasa turned her eyes to Jean. The former commanding officer was smiling and watching his friend’s antics. There was a distance in his gaze, one that she noticed too often when he was with her. She didn’t know what to make of it, but despite the time they constantly spent together she noticed that he had a certain guardedness, a wall he had carefully built up and she could not trespass. 

She had appreciated him being here more than he could understand. In days when her mind was her own worst enemy, his presence had come as a haven of such comfort that she wondered if she even deserved it. Whether he was talking about how his day went, grumbling about having to argue with ‘constipated geezers’ as he had called them, or just remaining by her side quietly, his company had quickly become one of the highlights of her days. She only wished she could know what was going on in that mind of his.  

Jean suddenly stood up from the table and excused himself. She thought he was probably going to the restroom. But after a while, he still did not come back. Mikasa eventually excused herself as well, with Armin reassuring her that they did not mind. 

Her instinct told her to go to the backyard, which consisted of a small lawn with an apple tree and a wooden fence separating it from an extensive meadow. She stepped out into the yard, tightening her scarf in the cool breeze as she looked for Jean.

“So, you found me.” She heard him say, and finally spotted Jean leaning over the yard’s wooden fence, face half-hidden by shadows.

Mikasa quietly walked over to where he was. She noticed he had a cigarette in his hand and fought the urge to slap it away. At one point in their reunions, she had noticed him sneaking away to smoke but didn’t say anything, only earning shrugs from Armin when she turned her questioning eyes to him. 

“Was Reiner and Connie’s debate that uninteresting?” He asked.

Mikasa grimaced, “remind me to never let them drink again.”

Jean snorted, “prepare yourself, because they’ll be at it for a while.” he said, taking a drag.

“I never took you for a smoker,” Mikasa prodded, narrowing her eyes at him. He looked a little embarrassed, looking away as he exhaled, whiffs of smoke swelling and disappearing in the darkness.

“Sorry, it’s a bad habit I picked up in Marley,” he explained, scratching the back of his neck, “I don’t do it a lot, but when I do it sort of helps.”

Mikasa nodded, figuring that he was nervous about the next day and deciding to not press him further about his new habit.

“Are you alright? I’m sorry if I’m bothering you too much, you probably wanted to be alone-”

“You could never bother me, Mikasa,” Jean interrupted her, then taking a deep breath, “I just- I guess I just realized that this is it. What we have been working for all this time has finally had a result. Isn’t that crazy?”

She nodded and beamed at him, “I know you will do great things.”

“I never thought it would come to this, it just hit me that I have no idea what will come next. I still don’t feel like I truly belong anywhere. Plus, I’m thinking that we probably won’t achieve anything tomorrow and this damn war will just keep on going. My mind’s been playing a lot of shitty tricks on me,” he explained, taking another drag before sighing and looking at her. “I’m sorry, you didn’t come here to listen to my problems.”

She immediately shook her head in protest, “I told you that I would be here for you, and I meant it.”

He looked at her fixedly, “what about you? You do know that you can tell me anything, yet I can’t help but sense that you’re not always honest with me. With any of us, really.”

As soon as he finished, he immediately regretted his words, suspecting that the alcohol had probably made him bolder than usual. He almost wanted to laugh at his hypocrisy, since he knew that he had also not been completely honest with Mikasa either.  

“I’m sorry-”

“No, Jean,” Mikasa interrupted, looking elsewhere. “You’re right, I’ve been trying to pretend that things are fine now. And they are in a way, but other days it-it’s too much.”

Jean nodded in understanding, “I get it, you know; I’m not saying I’m entitled to hear everything that you’re thinking, but I also want you to know that you don’t have to hide things from me either. I know that you’re still mourning him, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

It happened suddenly, but his words caused her heart to constrict and unexpected tears to gather in her eyes. “I’m glad to hear you say that,” she whispered, her voice wavering.

Jean dropped the cigarette and crushed it with his shoe, sticking his hands in his pockets. “I really miss that idiot; I even dream of him sometimes,” he admitted. “I like to think it’s him talking to me, you know?”

Mikasa hummed in response, turning away so he wouldn’t see her tears. “I dream of him too, not a day goes by where I don’t think of him. I once believed I couldn’t possibly live without him, and yet I still killed him.”    

“That was not your fault Mikasa,” Jean said firmly, his eyes like embers. She needed to understand that.  

“But I keep asking myself what if I had done things differently? What if I had stopped him in another way? What if I tried harder? What if…” she trailed off, gathering her breath, “What if I had been honest about my feelings to him? Would it have changed anything? And I know the answer is no, but I keep asking myself the same questions anyway. I guess my mind plays tricks on me too.”

Jean looked down, “I can’t possibly tell you how to make it stop, but you must remember that you’re not alone. No matter what happens, you have us,” he said, pausing and then looking back at her. “You have me.”               

Mikasa nodded jerkily, this time making no attempt at hiding her tears. “I do, don’t I?”

Jean stepped forward and pulled her into his arms.

Before he could regret it, she burrowed her head into his chest, his buttoned shirt quickly becoming damp with her tears.

He did not care, tightening his arms around her in his large frame, wanting to absorb every pain and every troubling thought she ever had.

Mikasa could only press herself even further into him as if she was seeking something but had to keep delving in for it. The night was quiet except for the whimpers that escaped her as they both hastened to get even closer, creating a cocoon of warmth, a little sun between their bodies. Whatever thoughts were troubling her before disappeared, and even if just for a moment, she could lose herself in Jean’s embrace and try to believe that things would get better.

~o~

They had done it. Despite the noises of protest that still echoed throughout the council they had done it.

Jean understood in that moment that they still had a long way to go, but this was an important step in the right direction. For now, a more peaceful world was possible.   

They had achieved a quorum of votes in their favor, with Historia presiding over the hearing. The next moments passed in a blur of formalities and shaking hands with officials from all political factions.

He felt as if he were in a daze, every action, and every word he spoke coming almost as mechanical.

After the conclusion of the session, everyone made their way outside of the room, tension permeating the atmosphere. As expected, there were all sorts of manifestations for and against the peace treaty outside.

Jean could hear all kinds of insults outside as he followed Armin closely to the back of the building, where they were supposed to wait for a carriage to take them back to Historia’s residency.

Traitors. Murderers. Turncoats.    

The past years had hardened him to any slander, and he could only hold his head up and continue walking to the main hallway, where he could see Mikasa waiting for them.

Her head perked up when she noticed them both, immediately walking towards them.

“Were you here this whole time?” Armin exclaimed over the background noise. They had seen her before the start of the session, but Armin did not think she would stay.  

“There was no way that I would miss this moment. You were almost unrecognizable in there,” she said, recalling the scenes she witnessed from her front-row seat in the stands that were free to the public. “I’m proud of you two, of all of you. I had no doubt you would achieve it.”

“We’ll see if they don’t eat us alive first.” Jean retorted, looking grim as the noise of the crowds outside became more prominent.

They went to the back of the building, stepping out onto the cobblestones of an extensive alley. Mikasa had insisted that she could make her way back home walking, but Jean and Armin had none of it. Vehicles and carriages were coming and going in the dim light of the alleyway as the three friends waited for the rest of the group.

Jean could not help but think on how the island was just starting to use vehicles but still relied mostly on carriages. He had gotten used to the strange steel machines with time, which was more than he could say for Connie who had quite the record in car crashes back at Marley. 

“Mikasa! You’re here!” Connie shouted as he emerged into the alley with the rest of the group trailing behind him. He gave her a crushing hug, and Mikasa smiled, heartily returning his embrace.

“Of course, I am,” Mikasa replied.

“This demands another round of drinks at your house. What do you say?” Connie said and Jean rolled his eyes. Leave it to Connie to invite himself to people’s houses. 

“As long as you and someone else behave…” She commented while staring at Reiner, who was behind Connie and could only look sheepish and turn away. 

“Is the carriage here yet? We better get away from these crowds of lunatics.” Annie added, looking shaken while Armin tightened her coat around her.

“There it is,” Pieck pointed to a coming carriage bearing the queen’s emblem. As they walked Jean stayed behind, letting everyone get into the carriage first.

Mikasa was the second last to get in, and Jean moved to help her up before he heard it.

“Death to the Alliance!”

He moved in a flash before they got to her and then he was falling backward, catching a glimpse of her horrified expression, with everything morphing into screams in the distance and the noise of steel tearing through flesh repeatedly.

“Jean!” He heard Mikasa scream.  

Maybe it was sheer will, but he shoved the man who had brought him down, scrambling to get to him despite the blade that was lodged between his ribs. He managed to grab the bastard by the hair and hit his skull against the hard cobblestones.

The rush almost left him dizzy, but he kept slamming the man’s head against the ground until the hard noises of bones breaking were soon replaced by the slick sounds of blood and joints being torn. Not too far he heard the guards and his friends taking care of the man’s lackeys. Extremists, no doubt.

He should have seen this coming. Whatever strength he had left him suddenly, his grab on the man’s head loosening before he was shoved and felt two pairs of hands grabbing his neck to strangle him. It wasn’t long before Jean caught the flash of a red scarf and the man was pulled back abruptly and slammed harshly against the carriage, losing all consciousness. Jean clambered to his feet while coughing, feeling someone stabilizing him from behind.

“Jean, don’t move,” Connie said shakily, holding Jean by the shoulders. One look at Mikasa told Connie that they were both replaying another bloody scene from their past in their heads, where their best friend had been taken away from them with a single bullet.

“You’re hurt,” Mikasa murmured, her face looking pale.

The body of the man who had stabbed Jean lay carelessly beside her, as she had done a quick job in knocking him down.

Jean however appeared to not understand what his friends were saying, his eyes glazed over and his body beginning to wobble from side to side. “My suit got ruined,” he tried to joke but only groaned as he felt himself getting dizzier.

He heard the others come near him, but at that point, their voices were just cryptic noises and the lights from the lampposts stretched into long hazy lines. Someone gasped as the circle of blood on his shirt grew and dripped onto the cobblestones below. The violent encounter had given him such a rush that he barely registered any pain and did not notice that the bleeding was rapidly increasing.

“Jean, stay still! We need a medic!” He heard Armin shout as he ran from the place in search of help.

Jean still appeared lost, trying to shrug off Connie and Mikasa’s hold on him. He turned to Mikasa, who looked terrified as she saw Jean becoming as pale as a sheet of paper.

“What a drag, huh?” He said before his eyes rolled back and his body collapsed.

~0~    

Everything looked black, with flashes of a fluorescent tree coming and going like waves, distant static noises, and a hand reaching out to him. He found himself surrounded by a dense white fog that engulfed him and then slowly dissipated, revealing an empty street. Jean suddenly recognized where he was, the street from his childhood home in Trost becoming apparent in all its simpleness.

The place was empty as Jean slowly made his way down the steps that interpolated with the old street. He kept walking down the steps, the silent streets appearing to be his only company.

Or so he thought.

“Jean.”

He froze and turned towards the voice, meeting a pair of unmistakable green eyes. It felt like all the oxygen left him as the reason for their current plight appeared before him.

“Eren?” He choked, watching as Eren stood in the middle of the street, tall and unmoving. He didn’t know whether he wanted to run and embrace him or beat him to a pulp. “What is this?”

“I wanted to find something meaningful; this is the first thing that appeared.”

Eren’s words were punctuated by a sudden noise, and he saw the flash of a boy running down the street and fading away. There was a youthful cry and Jean saw the same boy on another corner of the street with a woman. He soon realized that the boy was him as a young child and that the woman was his mother, who was kneeling before him and wiping away tears from his chubby cheeks.

“I don’t understand,” Jean muttered, turning to Eren.

Eren lowered his head, never looking at Jean directly. At least he had the decency to look remorseful, Jean thought.

“I…wanted to say goodbye.”

Jean let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, feeling all sorts of emotions surge up inside him.

“Why, Eren?” Jean said, his voice quivering.

Eren still wasn’t looking at him. “I don’t expect you to forgive me. But I needed to say goodbye.”

The word goodbye made his chest tighten, and he did not trust himself to even speak but he did anyway. “You-you left, you left and didn’t tell us anything! You acted on your own without trusting us. And now millions of innocents are dying because of you! Why?!”

Eren still avoided his gaze. “None of that matters anymore. I made my choice, and there is no going back for me now. I needed to see you before it happens.”

“Before what happens?” Jean pressed him, but Eren did not answer, he only stared at him with a look he couldn’t quite decipher.

The scene changed, with the streets morphing into indecipherable shapes before they found themselves in the dining room of the training camp. The place they had all met as young trainees. Before them, a pre-teen Jean was talking for the first time to Mikasa, his nervousness obvious through his red face and his awkward attempt at complimenting her hair.

Jean frowned, looking at Eren. “Why are we here?”

“This is your consciousness, I technically have some control, but these moments…they are all meaningful to you,” Eren explained, eyes fixed onto the scene before them. This was the first time he had met Eren and Mikasa.

Their surroundings changed into another scene in the same dining room, where he and Eren were brawling before Mikasa separated them. Jean felt embarrassed not only at their childish behavior but at the fact that Eren knew that Jean had secretly treasured these moments. He fixed his eyes on the scene.

“She always had to mother you around,” Jean murmured, referring to Mikasa. 

“Mikasa was always protective of me, yet she never defended me from you. She would reproach me when we would get into fights. Even when you started them,” Eren said as Mikasa gave his younger self a disapproving look after separating them.

“It wasn’t always me. If you weren’t such a pain in the ass, it would have been easier,” Jean grumbled, his words contradicted by his behavior on the scene before them, where he had grabbed Eren in a fit of jealousy.

Eren only gave a sad smile as their surroundings kept changing, fading scenes playing one after the other like the strange projections of those films Jean had seen when they arrived in Marley. There were several moments with Marco, the part of his soul that had been violently ripped away from him. They landed in a different scene, where there were massive pyres of fire and a fifteen-year-old Jean was kneeling before the pyre that took the center, his body shaking in sobs. 

“What-“

“You truly loved him, didn’t you? I think he would be proud of you.”

Jean winced, the shadows from the flames dancing all around them. The beautiful friend who had believed in him now turned into ashes. “I don’t think he’d be proud. I never amounted to anything, and now I will probably die trying to stop you.”

Suddenly they were in a different place, with throngs of people walking away hurriedly in their direction. Jean tried to move away but the people passed through him as if he were a mere ghost.

There was a stage set up at the front, where the statuesque figure of Commander Erwin could be seen standing still.

Of course.

This was the night he decided to join the Survey Corps.

They watched as almost everyone walked away to the promises of comfort and safety inside the walls, while only a few stayed. Even when watching as an onlooker, Jean could feel the weight of resolve and terror hanging over everyone that remained behind.

“That is not true. I know you do not want to hear this from me but he always spoke of you at every turn he could. Even the simplest thing would have him singing praises about you. He always said that you would be a leader. I didn’t believe him at the time, but I was proven wrong. Every decision you have made since you joined the Survey Corps has led you to this point… to saving humanity. If anything, you went further than anyone’s expectations.”

Jean felt a lump form in his throat, shaking his head. “I…don’t want to see this anymore.”

As if on cue, the scene changed yet again. The sudden brightness made him shield his eyes as the sun shone brightly and the smell of sea salt invaded his senses. The air was filled with the splashes of water and laughter. In the distance, he could make out the three figures of himself, Connie, and Sasha playing on the shore of a beach. Currently, his friends had succeeded in toppling him over the water, making him yell out curses as they cackled.

“Sasha…”

Jean felt something tighten painfully in his chest as he watched her. This was how he liked to remember his dear friend; happy and carefree, not cold and lifeless.

“I think this was one of the last times any of us was happy,” Eren said.

“Were you?”

Eren looked away, fixing his gaze on another trio by the shore who looked much quieter. Their figures standing still and seemingly staring into nowhere. “I can’t remember if I ever truly was happy.”

Jean scoffed at that. “That sounds like bullshit.”

The titan shifter paused as if in deep thought, then turning to Jean. “You’re right, there were happy moments. You guys…made it a lot easier.”

“And now look where we are. You still haven’t answered me why Eren. Why did you do this? Armin and Mikasa…they try to look strong, but you broke them both.”

“They will move forward just as I expect them to do. I don’t know the exact details of how everything will play out but Armin… Armin will lead humanity to peace with you close by his side. And Mikasa…she’s strong and will move forward with her life. She has always been so much stronger than me, while I didn’t even have the guts to tell her that I love her.” Eren said with a self-deprecating laugh.

Jean’s breath hitched as he heard him. “Then tell her that! You can’t let her go while she thinks you hate her!”

“It’s too late now, what I have done…there’s no way to come back from that. I didn’t always treat her like she deserved, you know. Now all I can do is encourage her to forget me and be happy no matter how much it hurts me.”    

There were more shrieks of laughter, with Connie and Sasha now halfway sunk in the water as they swam around Jean, all three of them splashing each other. Not too far, Commander Hange was picking up seashells and staring at them in wonder while Captain Levi stood further from the shore, staring quietly into the horizon. Eren’s words sank in, and he felt a surge of anger and panic at the finality in what he said.

“You…you say that like it’s so easy. Do you ever think about the pain she’s going through? What you put all of us through? You did all this for what? Trying to play the hero for us? Fuck you!” Jean yelled as he lunged and punched Eren, making him fall backward and sending wafts of sand flying up. “You broke me too, asshole! Now I’ll have to live with that if I make it out alive!”

The background was changing yet again, blue skies turning into an azure shade and then into ink-black, with a few scatterings of stars.  The beach was now dark and empty, and the air was dead silent.

Jean was breathing heavily, feeling hot tears running down his cheeks but not really caring. Eren was staring up at him, anguish clear in his bloody features. He scrambled to his feet, and Jean moved to help him up. He meant to let him go as soon as he was able to stand, but he only pulled Eren into his arms abruptly, hugging him tightly and letting his tears flow freely.

He didn’t know whether it was something in the atmosphere or the look in Eren’s eyes, but he could feel him fading away. The background changed in a flurry of colors and waves while they held each other firmly and finally landed in a different place.

Jean pulled back and soon realized they were in the barracks from their trainee days. The room was empty, the air only filled with the creaking noises of wood and the chirping of birds outside. He turned back to Eren, who had that same indecipherable look in his eyes.

“I won’t ask for your forgiveness, but I am truly sorry I brought so much pain to all of you. And…I know I have no right to request anything from you, but I am selfish, I have always been so selfish…so I need you to promise me, that no matter what happens, you will move forward and live your life to the fullest.”

Jean felt a thousand protests gather on the tip of his tongue, not ready to acknowledge the finality in his words. There was a certain heaviness in his chest that made him sit down in one of the bunk beds. “I’m not sure that I can.”

Eren knelt in front of him, “you can, you’re strong. More than you give yourself credit for. Promise me, Jean.”

The words echoed painfully, and Jean looked down, his voice coming out weak. “Why does this sound like a goodbye?”

He was met with silence and Eren getting closer, holding his hands.

Jean gasped as he noticed that Eren’s hands looked different.

Their surroundings were becoming dark again, and the fluorescent light that he had seen briefly now appeared to be spreading from Eren’s fingertips and extending towards him.

“It is time,” Eren finalized.              

Jean froze. And as irrational as he knew it sounded, Jean could not help but deny what he was saying. “No! We-we can work things out, Eren. Please stop this and come back to us! Please!”

As he finished his desperate plea Eren pressed his forehead against Jean’s, a little frantically. “This is it, Jean. Please don’t ask me to come back. Just promise me that you will move forward.”

The light was spreading more rapidly now, their bodies illuminated in a searing light, two figures in a flame. Jean swallowed the lump in his throat, shutting his eyes tightly before nodding against Eren’s forehead. He felt him breathe a sigh of relief. 

“Thank you,” Eren said, and it sounded like the saddest goodbye to Jean.

“I don’t know what to do. What will be left?” He choked, feeling completely helpless.

Eren lightly shook his head, his eyes sad but also alight with unspoken things. “I think you’ll be surprised by the things life has in store for you, Jean.”     

Jean was confused by his words, but decided not to question him, knowing that he would disappear at any moment. 

“Don’t look away,” Jean said, and Eren obliged, fixing his piercing gaze on him. They remained like that for a good while before the strands of fluorescent light completely engulfed them.    

“Goodbye, Jean,” Eren said, a little broken but still strong.

“Goodbye, Eren,” Jean replied, his hands still holding onto Eren’s blazing form until there was nothing left. 

~o~

The oil lamp was the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes. The flame appeared to be the only thing lighting up the room. Slowly but steady, everything was becoming clearer to him even if he still felt very strange. There was the sterile air, the smell of mercury and alcohol, the moonbeams filtering through the window, and the tears warming his cheeks, a last residue from his dream.

He didn’t know why he was remembering that vision now of all times. His last moments with Eren had happened in a landscape that wasn’t real, and that was something that he rarely if ever wanted to remember. All his memories with the green-eyed boy had contorted into a permanent bloodstain on his soul. And the fact that he did not follow his promise to Eren and instead became a pathetic shell of a man made everything worse.

But his self-deprecation did not last long as he noticed that he wasn’t alone, a shift by his side catching his attention. He could not see her very well, but Mikasa was now looking at him closely, shock and confusion on her face as she noticed his tears.

“Armin! He’s awake!” She exclaimed as she ran out of the room, and Jean heard muffled voices outside where he could only make out the words “doctor” and “Mrs. Kirschtein”.

Mom?

While the voices went on Jean remained dazed, moving the fingers of his right hand in front of his face. He felt so out of it that he barely noticed Mikasa coming back.

“Jean? How are you feeling?”

He only groaned in response, “wh-where am I?”

“The Hospital of Mitras. We were lucky it was close by. Armin went to find the doctor and your mother.” She explained, staring worriedly at the wetness in his face. Mikasa said something else, but he didn’t hear it, his body feeling like a thousand bricks. 

“Mom?” he mumbled, scrunching up his face as he tried to move before Mikasa stopped him. “‘the hell did they give me?”

“You’re dosed on morphine. They told us you would be feeling drowsy when you woke up.” Mikasa took in how Jean seemed to stare at her but not at all at the same time.

His eyes were clouded and watery.

Since they arrived the day before, she had been hearing him make all sorts of noises in his unconscious state, muttering different names or things she couldn’t make out. One look at him could tell anyone that he was still heavily drugged. But she also wondered why he was crying.   

She saw that he was sneaking a hand to touch the bandages on his ribs, and she immediately moved to pry his hands away. “No! You’re in a delicate state, you have to stay still.”

“Ah my hero,” Jean slurred, “so protective and gentle.”

Yes, definitely drugged.

She was gathering the blankets around him, remembering the way his body couldn’t stop shivering when they had first arrived and how nervous she had been with every single movement.

Reiner had helped carry Jean all the way to the hospital. While they had been lucky enough to be close to the hospital, Jean still caught an infection on the way according to the doctor. Mikasa had some hope now that he was awake, but she couldn’t help the fear that still plagued her. No. She wouldn’t lose anyone else. She would make sure of that.

Her thoughts were interrupted by him mumbling something she couldn’t hear clearly.

Jean’s eyes were blinking slowly, and he was turning his head from side to side. She leaned closer to hear what he was saying.

“It was him…Eren…he talked to me.” He muttered and gave an exhausted sigh, trying to fix his eyes on Mikasa even while she was blurry.

Mikasa was now frozen as Jean looked at her, his eyes still glazed over but there was something else in them now.

“I liked you, Mikasa, y’know? I think I even loved you. Since we were trainees…” he confessed, his voice still slightly slurred before he laughed. “Ah, what a stupid fool. It’s kind of funny,” Jean continued while laughing, a strange picture with the tears that were still drying on his face. He stopped with a groan when the strain was too much.

“Jean…” Mikasa muttered. 

“Hmm…I wish he was here; I wish I could bring him back,” Jean mumbled, “I’m sorry I can’t do anything…I’m so sorry Mikasa…”

He turned his face into the pillow, looking like he was about to pass out. If Mikasa was planning to say something, it was interrupted by the doors opening abruptly. That didn’t seem enough to wake Jean from his stupor as the doctor walked in, followed by a trail of nurses. Mikasa could only stand aside as the doctor and the nurses covered Jean from her view, enveloping him in their prying hands and moving white garments.

She remained there as they worked on him, his dazed words replaying in her head like a broken record, his expression etched onto her mind. They had seen each other in the most brutal and vulnerable situations throughout their years as comrades, yet she felt at a complete loss with what she had just witnessed. She forced her intrusive thoughts into the back of her head and remained in her place, where she could do nothing but pray to whatever deity was listening that Jean would be safe and sound.   

[clumsyclifford]

god its nice to be back in your ask box mm tasty your blog looks so professional now i never go on it on desktop its a brand new world also my prompt for you is “That’s okay, I bought two.” for ot4 xoxo love u my darling

hello my wonderful helen, u lookin kinda leng still <3 happy anniversary, hope you like this

side note i realise ashton is not a vegetarian but pretend he is ok carry on

read on ao3

-

“Hey,” Calum says, sliding into the chair across from Michael at the kitchen table. Michael looks up from his book and smiles.

“Hey.”

“Any idea what we’re doing for dinner?” Calum asks. “Luke doesn’t know and Ashton doesn’t care.”

“Pizza,” Michael says immediately. “Please? Pizza, please? Movie night with pizza? Did I mention pizza?” 

“I’m in,” Calum says. He smiles a little. “I was kinda hoping you’d say that, actually.”

“You know me,” Michael says cheekily, offering up his face. Calum, struggling to lean across the table, kisses his cheek. “I’ll order.”

“I was hoping you’d say that, too,” Calum says, reaching up to brush Michael’s cheek with the back of his fingers. “You’re the best.”

“I am,” Michael agrees solemnly. “The best. I agree. Well said.”

“Although Luke did let me play Oasis the whole drive home from work today,” Calum says thoughtfully.

Michael pulls a face. “Hey! If I worked with you, I’d let you play Oasis on the drive home.”

“Yeah, but you don’t.”

“Yes, but it’s the thought.”

“For Luke it was the action,” Calum says. “I don’t know, Mikey. You might have to battle Luke for top spot.”

Michael doesn’t really have a comeback for this. Frankly, most of the time he also thinks Luke is the best. He’s pretty evenly divided, actually, thinking his three boys are the best. 

“We can share,” says Michael. “Luke is small.”

Calum laughs. “I’d feel bad leaving out Ashton.”

“Ah, he’s a big boy. He can take it.”

“Boyfriend of the year, you are.”

“I’m ordering the pizza, aren’t I?” Michael holds up his phone like evidence, even though the screen is still dark. The real reason he’s the one ordering is because he’s the only person with the number of the pizza place saved to his contacts. According to Luke, this is “on brand” for him. If that means Michael’s brand is having access to pizza delivery anywhere, then he’s absolutely okay with that.

“I’ll have to run the numbers again,” Calum says lightly. He pushes his chair out. “I’m gonna go shower.”

“Please do.”

“Hey!”

“Joking, love you,” Michael says quickly, offering Calum a smile. Calum narrows his eyes, but after a moment he shrugs it off.

“Okay. Love you too.”

He sweeps past Michael through to the bathroom, and Michael unlocks his phone to scroll through his contacts.

-

The doorbell rings. 

“Dinner!” Michael shouts. He makes for the front door and pulls it open. “Hey. Thanks so much. Have a good night.”

“You too,” says the delivery guy, already turning away to return to his car and probably deliver more pizzas. That, Michael thinks, is his dream job. Driving around for hours, transporting pizza from hot ovens to eager hands and hosting one-man-concerts in his car. Not to mention that working for a pizza place must come with pizza-related perks. Free pizza, for example. Not for the first time, Michael wonders if their pizza place is seeking drivers. Also not for the first time, he pushes the thought aside.

“Dinner!” Ashton hollers, sliding into the living room on his socks. He’s shirtless in joggers for no reason Michael can identify. Sometimes Ashton is just like that. None of them are complaining, because, well. Obviously. “I love dinner!”

“Someone say dinner?” Calum appears in the room. “I love dinner.”

“Fuck’s sake, just get married already,” Michael says, rolling his eyes.

Ashton giggles and turns to Calum. “Same brain.”

“We are the wisest,” Calum says, nodding like this is an established fact. A careening force rams into him at full speed and he staggers forward, barely catching himself. “Motherfucker, Luke.”

“I heard talk of pizza,” Luke says, tucking his chin over Calum’s shoulder and hugging Calum from behind. “I’m starving. Gimme gimme.”

“We’re all starving. No hogging the pizza,” Calum informs him, angling his head to lean back onto Luke’s shoulder. They’re cute, Michael thinks. Maybe Luke should be best boyfriend for today. Or maybe Calum, if Michael’s honest. Everyone seems to generally concur that something about Calum today is extremely distracting.

The smell of pizza, however, is equally distracting. Possibly more so. Another day, Michael may need to reexamine his priorities.

“We all know Mikey’s gonna hog the pizza,” Luke grumbles.

“That’s okay, I got two,” Michael says. “One for me, one for the rest of you.”

Ashton takes the pizza out of Michael’s hands. “Sharing is caring, you arse.” 

“I did this for you!”

“Is this pepperoni?” Ashton sniffs the air. “Definitely yes.”

“Other one’s half cheese, half veggie,” Michael says, taking the box of pepperoni back but leaving the other box in Ashton’s arms. “Luke, you and I are on this one.”

“Fuck yes,” Luke says fervently. “You read my fucking mind.”

Like Michael hasn’t ordered pizza for them all dozens of times. He knows the general preferences.

Case in point: “You got veggie?” Ashton says, prying open the box. “Hey, Mikey, have I told you I love you today?”

“You have not,” Michael says, even though he probably has. “So let’s hear it.”

“Hold on a sec,” Ashton says, stepping over discarded shoes and someone’s jumper — probably Michael’s — to set the pizza down on the coffee table. Immediately, Calum makes a beeline for the box, leaping over the back of the couch and reaching to open it before he’s fully settled. Michael grins at the move before Ashton reappears in front of him, redirecting his attention.

“Well,” Ashton says seriously, putting both hands on Michael’s shoulders, “there’s something I have to tell you.”

Michael stifles a laugh. “Yeah, go on.”

“Don’t freak out,” Ashton says, “but I think I’m in love with you.”

“Fuck,” Michael says. “Ashton, I don’t know what to say. This is kind of awkward. I don’t actually feel the same.”

Ashton’s jaw drops in mock-offence. “What the fuck? I thought we had something.”

“We did, we did! But you eat veggie pizza, and I’m more of a pepperoni kind of guy, so…”

“Wow,” Ashton says, appalled. “So this is how it ends.”

Michael smirks. “Guess so,” he says, and tugs Ashton into a kiss. It’s laughable how quickly Ashton relents, melting into it like ice cream on a sunny day, sweet by all standards. When Michael pulls back he grins. “Kidding, by the way. I love you too.” 

“You’re on thin ice,” Ashton says, very unconvincingly, considering he’s smiling like a kid on Christmas. “Thin ice, Clifford.”

“I got you veggie pizza.”

“I can’t believe I’m dating a guy who doesn’t like vegetables,” Ashton says, shaking his head.

Michael scoffs. “I’m dating two vegetarians! Imagine how I feel.”

“You’re welcome,” Luke, the other resident carnivore, chimes in from his position on the sofa.

“Objectively, one of these things is worse than the other,” Calum points out as Ashton and Michael traipse over to the couch. “At least we eat healthy.”

“I respect your dietary choices,” Michael says. “Respect mine.” He wedges himself between Luke and Calum and Ashton takes a seat at Calum’s left. The TV is already on, set to play a DVD of their choosing, although it seems to have been abandoned for the moment in favour of pizza. Calum is happily munching away at a cheesy slice, Luke on one with pepperoni.

“What are we watching?” Ashton asks, reaching over Calum to pull a slice of veggie out of the pizza. It’d be civil to eat with plates, but the four of them are well past civil. 

“Whose turn is it to choose?” Calum asks. He’s already almost done with his slice. That boy can fucking eat. Not one to be outdone, Michael takes a big bite out of his own slice. 

“Oh my God,” he manages through his mouthful. “Oh my fucking God, I love pizza. This was such a good idea.”

“Agreed,” Luke says, hooking his foot around Michael’s ankle and briefly leaning into him. Michael hums as a feeling of bliss settles like a blanket cape over his shoulders, a gentle hug of happiness. This is the life. Four boys crammed shoulder-to-shoulder on one couch, not because there’s not enough room but because to be anything short of pressed together would leave too much space between any of them. God, Michael loves his life. Weird boyfriends and diverse pizza tastes and uncivil eating habits and all. He wouldn’t want it any other way with anyone else.

A minor argument between Ashton and Luke resolves into the decision that Luke will pick the movie, which of course means they’re watching High School Musical 3, though Michael can’t complain. Everyone knows the third movie is the best. Also, Michael suspects Luke just doesn’t want to pick a movie everyone will groan at. Ever the peacekeeper, that one.

As Luke goes to put the movie in and Ashton rises to grab a shirt from his room, Calum leans against Michael’s other side, reaching for his face and then pulling back at the last second.

“Greasy fingers,” he says apologetically. 

“The true homewrecker,” Michael deadpans. “Grease.”

“Hey, I like Grease.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Calum smiles, and Michael struggles to come up with a single thing more beautiful in the world. “Thanks for getting us pizza. I love you.” 

Michael quirks his lips. “That’s a bit cheesy.”

Calum rolls his eyes with impressive force. “Seriously? I’m being cute.”

“And I’m being hilarious,” Michael returns. He captures Calum’s mouth with his own, delighted to find that he can taste the faintest trace of Calum’s last slice on his lips. Calum hums softly until Michael pulls away. 

“One day you won’t be able to kiss your bad jokes better,” he says. He, too, is smiling. Michael doesn’t think that day will come anytime soon. 

“Whatever you say,” he says airily, licking his lips. “But until then, just know…you’ll always have a pizza my heart.”

Calum stares at him as Michael’s grin slowly spreads until he’s cackling, pulling a squirming Calum into his arms and saying “Get it? A pizza my heart?” over all of Calum’s futile protests.

[pumpkinpaix]

Sending all the good vibes your way!! ✨✨ Wangxian + laundromat prompt, but only if you’re feeling it!

happy birthday sarah~~ (*´▽`*)

(crossposted to ao3)

—

Someone has taken Lan Wangji’s laundry out of the dryer and dumped it all on the counter in a haphazard heap, even though he started heading down as soon as he received the notification on his phone. He frowns. The clothes are still warm, and the room is empty but for the steady whirs and thumps of the machines. And—it’s fine, it’s just that he always comes promptly when his clothes are done to avoid this exact situation. He likes being the only one to touch his clothes, to know where they’ve been and how they’ve been handled. It hasn’t even been two minutes.

As it is, they’re now on the counter beside another heap of clothes, these ones cold, wrinkly, and probably still a bit damp. He suspects the owner overloaded the dryer, actually. Lan Wangji sighs, lifting his clothes into his basket just as he hears the door bang open and raucous footsteps running down.

“Oh, Lan Zhan, it’s you!” Wei Wuxian says cheerfully, bounding his way over to the counter.

Lan Wangji takes a moment to control his traitorous racing heart, like he always does, before turning to face him. “Mn.”

“Did your laundry just finish?” he asks, grabbing the pile of wrinkly clothes in both arms like a gremlin, instead of loading them into a basket like a human being.

“You’ve dropped a sock,” Lan Wangji points out. “Two so—three socks,” he corrects as more fall to the floor.

“Ahahah, Er-gege, won’t you pick them up for me?” Wei Wuxian asks, probably pouting if his tone of voice is to be trusted. Lan Wangji can’t actually see his face around the mountain of clothing in his arms. “I can’t reach.”

Lan Wangji acquiesces because he’s weak. “Next time, bring a basket,” he suggests.

“Jiang Cheng’s hamper was full,” Wei Wuxian says, shrugging dangerously. Another sock falls to the floor. Lan Wangji picks it up and puts it back on top of the pile.

“Next time,” Lan Wangji repeats.

“Yes, yes, next time!” Wei Wuxian says. “Thanks, Lan Zhan! See you around!” And then he’s gone in a teetering whirlwind.

Lan Wangji takes another breath to steady himself and picks up his basket.

–

It takes a few moments for Lan Wangji to realize something is wrong. He pours the fresh laundry onto his bed to fold it and grabs a shirt, then another, and then catches a glimpse of unexpected color in the pile.

He blinks and sets down the shirt to reach for the corner of red sticking out amidst all the white.

He finds himself holding a pair of bright red briefs that definitely do not belong to him.

Were they in the dryer before he loaded in his clothes earlier? He thought he had checked, but perhaps not thoroughly enough. He sets them aside to bring back down to the laundry room later, and continues folding.

He finds another pair of briefs, these ones patterned in… lily pads? He puts them on top of the red ones.

It’s when he finds the third pair (a deep violet) that he finally stops folding and starts digging through the pile, discovering, to his increasing horrified bewilderment, that no fewer than twenty-three pairs of briefs and one pair of boxers have made their way into his clothing.

He also appears to be missing all of his underwear.

This doesn’t make any sense. This doesn’t make any sense! He stares at the pile of offending underwear with a sinking heart. He knows exactly who they belong to—it’s obvious enough from the aesthetics on display, and when he gingerly picks one of them up, he discovers “wwx” written in fat black marker on the inside of the waistband.

Wei Wuxian writes his initials on his underwear?? Why??

Lan Wangji stands helplessly amidst his unfolded laundry, Wei Wuxian’s underwear, and his own messy feelings.

–

Lan Wangji knocks sharply on the door to the suite that Wei Wuxian shares with Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang, stack of neatly folded underwear in one hand, ears hot and embarrassed. The hallway is blessedly empty, but he still feels ready to crawl out of his skin.

There’s the sound of what sounds like a rapid argument and brief scuffle before the door is wrenched open.

“Oh, Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian says, hair mussed and clothes askew.

“Did you… just have a fight over who would open the door?” Lan Wangji asks in lieu of a greeting, definitely not looking at Wei Wuxian’s exposed collarbone.

“Yeah, and he lost,” Jiang Cheng calls out from inside the room.

“You and Huaisang ganged up on me!” Wei Wuxian protests. “But since I’m honorable, I opened the door anyways.”

“Aren’t you glad? Turns out it was for you in the first place,” Huaisang says with a sly bent that Lan Wangji doesn’t appreciate.

“How do you know that?” Wei Wuxian demands. “Maybe he’s here for you guys!”

There’s a disbelieving, ringing silence that follows.

Lan Wangji clears his throat. “I came to return these to you,” he says, trying very hard to meet Wei Wuxian’s eyes as he offers the pile of underwear.

“Return—wait, what?” Wei Wuxian stares at the tidy stack. “What the fuck? Is that—is that my underwear? Is that all of my underw—hold on—wait—”

“It was mixed into my laundry,” Lan Wangji explains. “I came to see if you had mine.”

“Uhh—” Wei Wuxian glances over his shoulder, and Lan Wangji can see that he’s thrown his laundry in a pile on his unmade bed without touching it. “Y-yours? Why would I have—are you missing yours?”

“Mn,” Lan Wangji says, offering the underwear again because he really, really does not want to be holding it any longer.

Wei Wuxian unfortunately doesn’t take them, instead dashing back inside to start digging through his pile of clothing.

“You don’t have to do it now,” Lan Wangji says, starting to panic a little because frankly, he’d prefer not to be present for this. “I can come back later if you find—”

“What the fuck?” Wei Wuxian demands, pulling out a pair of white boxer briefs, and Lan Wangji sort of wants to die, actually, thanks. “Wait, are there more?”

“Really, you don’t have to right now,” Lan Wangji says, a little desperately, though he’s hoping it doesn’t show in his voice.

“Wow, Wei Wuxian, did you steal all of Hanguang-jun’s underwear?” Jiang Cheng remarks snidely. “You know that’s not what people mean when they talk about trying to get into someone’s pants—”

 “Jiang Cheng!” Wei Wuxian snaps, sounding genuinely angry which… well, it hurts. A little. Lan Wangji isn’t going to dwell on it.

“What?” Jiang Cheng retorts unrepentantly.

“You can’t—apologize to Lan Zhan!”

“For what?” Jiang Cheng demands. “It’s not like I was saying anything about his honor.”

“For fuck’s sake—I’m going to—Lan Zhan, let’s talk outside,” Wei Wuxian says, coming back out and slamming the door behind him, muffling Nie Huaisang’s cackling.

The hallway is silent.

Lan Wangji offers him the stack of underwear for the third time.

Wei Wuxian takes it, looking a little dejected.

“Sorry,” he says.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Lan Wangji replies automatically.

“You can’t listen to anything Jiang Cheng says, okay? He just likes to rile people up.”

“He likes to rile you up,” Lan Wangji corrects.

Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes, a small smile sneaking its way back onto his face. “Yeah, you’re right. Everyone else is just collateral damage. Still. Sorry.”

“It’s all right,” Lan Wangji says. “I’ll come back later to get my clothes.”

“How did you know they were mine?” Wei Wuxian asks.

Lan Wangji resolutely does not say, I know what you like to wear. “Your initials are on all the waistbands.”

“Oh, right!” Wei Wuxian says laughing.

“Why?” Lan Wangji asks before he can stop himself.

“Jiang Cheng got mad that I kept borrowing his and marked them all saying I wouldn’t have any excuses in the future.” Wei Wuxian brightens. “Joke’s on him though! He forgot this one was originally his.” He points at the one patterned with cute cartoon lotus root slices.

Lan Wangji isn’t sure he wanted to know that, but they are very cute and he’s trying very, very hard not to think about Wei Wuxian wearing them. It’s a losing battle.

“Anyways, thanks,” Wei Wuxian says. “I’ll come by your room with your clothes in a few minutes. There’s no need for you to come back up here.” He reaches behind himself for the door handle.

It’s locked.

Wei Wuxian rattles it incredulously.

It really is locked.

“What the fuck!” he shouts. “Jiang Cheng! Huaisang!!”

“You aren’t allowed back in,” Nie Huaisang informs him with irritating cheer. “Not until you take care of this situation.”

“I need to come in to get Lan Zhan’s clothes! How the fuck am I supposed to resolve this situation from out here?”

“We’re taking drastic measures,” Jiang Cheng cuts in. “Obviously.”

“Wait, are you the one who switched our—Jiang Cheng! Let me in! I’m going to strangle you!”

“You’re not allowed back in until you get a goddamn date with Lan Wangji,” Jiang Cheng says imperiously.

There’s a full five seconds of absolute silence. Lan Wangji thinks his heart has leapt up into his throat.

“Excuse me?!” Wei Wuxian demands, voice at least two octaves higher than usual, tinged with an uncharacteristic alarm.

“You heard the man,” Nie Huaisang says with the enthusiastic energy of a sports coach. “Get a date, and you can come back in.”

“You can’t be serious,” Wei Wuxian says. He rattles the door handle harder, as if this will change anything.

“If,” Lan Wangji hears himself say. His throat is dry. “If that’s all it takes, that’s fine. I’ll do it.”

“What? Do what—a date? No, don’t let them bully you, it’s fine, I’ll just break in through the window,” Wei Wuxian says waving his hands. “The latches are broken.”

Lan Wangji pauses. “We’re on the third floor.”

“Yeah, that’s fine, I’ve climbed higher.” He perks up. “Wanna watch?”

Lan Wangji can think of almost nothing he’d like less than watching Wei Wuxian literally risk his life to avoid going on a date with him.

“No, thank you,” he says politely to cover for his wounded pride.

“Oh, okay.” Wei Wuxian actually seems to deflate very slightly, which is—huh. “That’s fine. But—oh, but here, you’ll have to take these back.” Wei Wuxian holds out the stack of underwear, not quite looking at Lan Wangji directly. “I can’t climb while holding them. Just uh, take them back to your room? And I’ll break in and bring you your clothes in a few minutes and we’ll swap.”

“It’s dangerous,” Lan Wangji says.

“If you try to break in, I will push you off the building and break both your legs,” Jiang Cheng threatens helpfully.

Lan Wangji opens his mouth, but Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes. “Ignore him, he wouldn’t dare. Here.” He all but shoves the underwear back into Lan Wangji’s hands. “I’ll be quick.”

Lan Wangji catches him by the elbow before he can take two steps. “Wei Ying,” he says, because—because.

Wei Wuxian flinches, but doesn’t yank himself away. “Lan Zhan,” he says nervously.

“I would rather go on a date with you than have you risk your life over some underwear,” Lan Wangji says, which—well, it’s not exactly what he meant to say, but it is true.

Wei Wuxian looks away, but Lan Wangji catches the flashbulb flicker of disappointment on his features, and wait, wait—

There’s a scream of frustrated rage from behind the door.

“LAN WANGJI, FOR HEAVEN’S SAKE JUST ASK HIM.”

“Don’t bully Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian says automatically.

“IT’S NOT BULLYING IF IT’S FOR HIS OWN GOOD!”

And Lan Wangji might be bad at using his words, and he might be bad at confronting his own feelings, and he might be really, genuinely terrible at reading social cues, but at this point—maybe—

“Wei Ying,” he says, fingers tightening around the crook of his elbow. “Please go on a date with me.”

“Lan Zhan, really, you don’t have to listen to them—”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji repeats, forcing the words out past the terrifying anxiety. “I want to.”

Wei Wuxian finally looks at him, really looks. “You want to?” he echoes.

Lan Wangji nods because he doesn’t think he’s physically capable of saying it again.

“Oh.”

“So?” Lan Wangji prompts after a moment, because he’s not sure he can continue to take this.

Wei Wuxian blinks, and then suddenly looks very, very intense. “Okay, hear me out,” he says, which usually doesn’t bode well. “What if you go back to your room, I break in anyways, and then I come down with your clothes, and we make out in your bed for an hour?”

Lan Wangji feels like he’s had all the breath punched out of him.

There’s a disgusted, wheezing gurgle from behind the door. It opens just wide enough for a toothbrush to be flung violently outside before slamming shut again and locking with a resounding click.

“Jiang Cheng!” Wei Wuxian protests, but he’s grinning now, so wide his eyes are crinkled into little crescent moons. “You said I could come back in if I got a date!”

“I fucking hate you! Don’t bother coming back tonight! Fuck this! The things I do for you! Fuck!” There’s the sound of another door slamming.

“Congratulations,” Nie Huaisang says drily. The door opens again, and a box of condoms comes bouncing out. Slam. Lock. “Don’t forget to use protection.”

Lan Wangji’s face is burning, but Wei Wuxian laughs as he bends down to pick them up without a hint of shame, and Wei Wuxian smiles at him like that when he links their pinkies together, and well. Lan Wangji could be convinced to forgive them.

—

* jiang cheng and nie huaisang have been FULLY planning this for like, two months, including but not limited to: stalking lwj’s laundry schedule, timing how long it takes for him to get from his room to the laundry room, pestering wwx to do laundry on the exact day that they know lwj is going to be washing his clothes, hiding in the laundry room to leap out and perform the swap in an absolute mad frenzy so they could escape before lwj saw them at the scene of the crime—

* there’s a lot of chaotic dumbass energy in this scenario ok

(prompt list || other ficlets || ko-fi)

[eternaliax3]

Moving On

Slowly migrating my fics onto here from AO3!

One-Shot | AO3 Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug Relationship: Luka Couffaine/Marinette Dupain-Cheng

Rating: G Summary:  Adrien's off-handed comment spurs Marinette to accept that she wouldn't be anything more than a friend and to consider someone else.

Marinette was left wondering at what she should do about Adrien as time went on. While her love for him never dwindled, she was steadfastly losing hope for their future as he never showed more interest than friendship.

It was when she was pondering this while she sat with Alya and Nino during lunch that she made up her mind, because Alya brought up the topic of Luka.

“So Marinette, what's going on with guitar boy?” She wiggled her eyebrows at her as she nudged her arm. Marinette looked at her not amused.

“Nothing, Alya. And you know that.”

“But he's so into you!”

“I know, he even confessed to me earlier.” Her eyes turned rueful as she remembered his words as Silencer, and then as himself.

At this moment, as she was staring at her sandwich, Adrien walked up to the group and overheard what she said.

He waved as a greeting, his smile sunny as ever.

“You guys talking about Luka? He's a really cool guy Marinette, you should definitely go for him!”

It was that moment where one could see a young girl's heart break, and the other two people could only look on in a mixture of horror and pity as the one who said it remained oblivious. And yet he continued on, driving the knife even further into her heart.

“You two would definitely make a great couple. I’m rooting for you!”

Marinette plastered a smile onto her face. “Thanks, Adrien.”

Alya and Nino started talking about something else, anything, that Marinette didn’t hear as she zoned out staring at her sandwich. She spent the rest of the school day quiet and thoughtful.

The next week Marinette was sitting on her balcony in the evening, staring at Luka’s contact information on her phone. During the week, she made her resolve to move on. It was painful, oh, it was so painful, but she accepted that Adrien didn’t see her as anything more than a friend. The first few nights were spent crying and writing sad diary entries. But she eventually accepted it.

That night, she sent a text message to Luka asking to meet.

                                                ━━━━━━━━

Luka agreed to meet her at the theater to watch a movie, and then get dinner together at a restaurant near the Seine. While the day of the date loomed closer and closer, Marinette decided to craft some new clothes to commemorate the occasion. After all, it was special and she wanted Luka to know that too. She decided to make a circle skirt in her signature color with white and black flowers, and a ruffly white off-the-shoulder top with straps going over the shoulders. She paired her signature flats and purse with them and on the day of the date she twirled in front of her mirror, proud of the new outfit.

Her hair was also left down, and she tied a pink ribbon with a bow on top of her head.

Tikki smiled at her outfit, beyond ecstatic that Marinette was going to be happy. It was also never a bad thing that her ladybug was creating.

Marinette walked down to the theater, butterflies exploding at her stomach, but calming once she saw Luka. The butterflies melted into excitement, and she ran over to give him a hug.

“You look beautiful, Marinette.” His eyes glinting with appreciation at her new outfit and hairstyle. Marinette blushed and thanked him. She noticed that he also wore a new outfit, ripped black jeans that accentuated his tall legs, and a Jagged Stone t-shirt with a black vest over it. His guitar in its case was on his back. It was casual, but definitely Luka’s style.

“You look good too, Luka.” Marinette smiled genuinely at him.

“Thanks, Ma-ma-Marinette.” She had to laugh at that, a slight tinge of embarrassment wafting over her face, but knowing that he was more affectionate with the endearment.

“Shall we go in, then?”

“Of course.”

Luka took her hand in, her much smaller hand in his, and lead her inside.

                                               ━━━━━━━━

The movie was enjoyable, and halfway throughout Luka put his arm over her shoulders and she leaned into his warmth. Her heart skipped a few beats as she felt more happy than she did the last month being there with Luka.

After the movie, they both went down to the Seine. Grabbing a bite to eat from a local restaurant, they talked about anything that came to their minds at the moment. Kitty Section and practice, designing new outfits, schoolwork; Marinette found herself rambling at times, but Luka was ever patient with her, finding it endearing when she would gesture  with her hands. It spoke of her passion when she was talking about designing.

It came to the topic of music, and Luka took out his guitar and started strumming the chords of a song he was writing. Marinette closed her eyes and let the notes circle around her, the two stuck in their own little world.

“I think I just came up with a new song, Marinette.” He smiled and started strumming a few upbeat chords and humming along with it. His voice was a low timbre, and Marinette found her heart flip flopping and a blush rose to her face.

She closed her eyes and enjoyed the music, one she recognized as the melody he played to her when they first met, but different. Revised into a more complicated but accompanied with lower notes at times. She found herself more inspired and her already happy mood lifted higher.

And she pulled out her sketchbook, a mini one that fits into her purse so she could take it with her anywhere. She shot a smile to Luka who closed his eyes and continued playing. They sat together on the steps of the Seine, a guitarist and a designer, finding inspiration from each other and enjoying their time together.

They both didn’t realize how much time had passed as they sat together.

                                               ━━━━━━━━

Two months have passed, and Marinette found herself thinking less and less of Adrien, and more of Luka. Pictures of Adrien that she took down that first day of those fateful words that were spoken to her were replaced by pictures of Marinette and Luka together, and of other friends.

Her stutter was nonexistent now, and she found herself becoming good friends with Adrien. She started wearing different outfits that she created and wearing her hair in different styles that she finds online.

Luka and her meet some days after school, sometimes on the weekends, though with Luka’s part time job it was sometimes difficult to schedule a date. Most of the time, it was planned on the spot, after a stray text message sent to each other saying I miss you , it usually led to them meeting up after school. It was instantaneous and improvised, and Marinette wouldn’t have it any other way. Her favorite activity was listening to him play his guitar and sing. She smiled fondly as she remembered the keychain she made him that was now on his guitar case—a little black music note, dangling off of a keyring that seemed to wink in the light.

She found herself missing him every moment he was away, and counting down the seconds she could see him again, even though it was sometimes for days if their schedules didn’t permit it. Marinette found out that he was quite the gentleman, being polite towards every one of her friends and respecting her space. It also seemed like they were on the same wavelength, as if Luka was so in tune to her and she to him, that whenever she tripped or was about to, Luka would catch her and hold onto her.

One of her favorite memories together is when they were walking, and she tripped over a crack in the sidewalk. Luka caught her by the waist and swung her around to hold her in an embrace, as if it were straight out of a romance movie. She laughed and poked his nose, and he responded by pulling her into a sweet kiss.

Sabine and Tom even adored him, saying that he was welcome to visit the bakery anytime and that he was always welcome to stay for dinner. Which surprised her, since Tom was extremely protective of Marinette. It spoke of Luka’s character in spades, if they were taken with him so easily.

                                               ━━━━━━━━

It was a few more months that passed and Hawkmoth sent out akumas with a vengeance. Akuma sightings that had to be dealt with in the middle of the day, past midnight, and then in the early morning at times. It drove Marinette mad, and Luka was ever so understanding about Marinette having to leave in the middle of their dates. It ate at her inside, she didn’t think she deserved him.

On the other hand, Marinette hadn’t made any progress into tracking down Hawkmoth, and she felt so guilty towards the people of Paris. How is she doing her job correctly aside from purifying akumas if she couldn’t even figure out who the person starting it all was?

One day she was at Luka’s house for one of their usual hangouts, and she couldn’t take it anymore. She wasn’t enjoying his presence as much as she usually would have, and she was distracted and mopey. Luka couldn’t help but ask what was wrong. And she crumbled. She tried to be strong for so long that it was all let out once he asked that.

“There’s just too much pressure, Luka!” She said in between tears. “There’s just too much. I’m only sixteen years old and have to handle so many things!”

There was so, so much she wanted to say to him, but couldn’t. The next thing she knew, she was wrapped up in a warm embrace.

“I’m here for you, Marinette. You’ve done an amazing job so far. Just let it all out.” His warm voice wrapped around her and she cried harder.

“I don’t deserve you, Luka.” She sobbed.

“Yes, you do.” He smiled at her and gave her a sweet kiss that she reciprocated. 

She felt lighter after that, as if the world wasn’t resting solely on her shoulders anymore, and she wasn’t alone.

                                               ━━━━━━━━

It was when they were sitting at a café eating lunch together on a lazy weekend that she decided to ask something that was on her mind for a while.

“Hey, Luka? Why did you start liking me?” Her eyes bored into his as they crinkled into smiles. “Was it when you saw me for the first time?” She joked.

“I actually started to like you before then.” He replied with total honesty. At her gape, he continued.

“It was during the time after Juleka came home and started to talk about you. She said that you helped to include her in the class picture a few years ago. She said so many good things about you, and you made my sister so happy that day. I knew you were a good person.”

Marinette couldn’t help but blush, her face heating up. “Wow, that long? That was years ago!”

“Yes, for that long.” He reached over and held her hand on top of the table. “I’m really happy you gave me a chance, Marinette.”

“I’m really happy too, Luka.”

                                               ━━━━━━━━

It was during patrol and when she was transformed into her alter ego that Chat Noir asked why she was in a happy mood for the past few weeks. And she told him the truth.

“I’ve started dating someone.”

Chat Noir could feel his own heart breaking as she said that. While she looked into his eyes, he couldn’t help but try and keep a happy facade. After all, she was his dear partner and he had to be happy for her in the end.

“Are you happy, milady?”

She smiled, one that genuinely reached her glowing eyes. Eyes that weren’t happy because of him.

“Very much so, Chat.” She turned towards the glowing city lights around them. “He’s...amazing. Really inspirational and he’s there for me all the time.”

She giggled and started swinging her trusty yoyo in her hands.

“He really sees who I am under the mask.” Her eyes turned wistful.

“But you know what’s funny?” She turned back towards him. “It was actually the boy I loved before that told me to go for it.”

Chat Noir realized he never had a chance with Ladybug. And he had to accept it in that moment.

“I’m happy for you, Ladybug.” And he truly meant it, as he went home trying to mend his broken heart.

                                               ━━━━━━━━

The next day, Adrien went to class looking a mess. There were dark circles under his eyes and he was slow in responding to people when they tried to talk to him. It even really worried Marinette throughout the day as she was able to see how he was acting in front of her.

The end of the school day came around and she put her hand on his shoulder as the students ushered out of the classroom, chattering about.

“Adrien, are you ok?” She was wearing a small pout as she looked at his defeated demeanor.

“Hey Marinette, I’m fine.” He tried to hold it together by giving her a small lopsided smile. “Don’t worry about me. Aren’t you meeting Luka soon?”

“Yes, but I wanted to check up on you. If you need to talk or anything, I’m here for you.” She smiled.

“Thanks, Marinette. I really appreciate that. I’m glad things are going well with you and Luka, by the way.” He started walking towards the front gates of the school.

“Yeah, he’s really great. I’m really glad I gave him a chance.” She spun around next to him to look earnestly into his eyes. “Hey, maybe we can all go on a triple date! Nino and Alya, Luka and I, and you and Kagami!”  

“Ka-Kagami?” He sputtered.

“Yeah! Isn’t she the one you’re pining for?” She nudged his arm.

He laughed. “Not Kagami.” If only she knew.

“But let’s change the topic here, is Luka treating you right? After all, you only deserve the best.” He winked at her and she laughed.

“He definitely does, Adrien. He really sees me.” She said, and he had to stop right in his tracks in confusion.

“What do you mean by that?”

Marinette also stopped as she realized what she just said and scrambled for an explanation.

“Oh well, you know, I just feel like I have a mask on sometimes, with how much I have to do with the bakery, schoolwork ,and being class president.” And being a superhero that fights akumas at all times of the day , she thought. “Luka just sees past all of that. He really sees the person  under the mask.”

Marientte smiled as past Adrien, she saw Luka waiting for her at the school gates.

“Well, try and get some rest today, ok Adrien? I’ll see you tomorrow!”

She left and ran towards Luka, and Adrien could only stand gaping as the deja vu almost knocked him over. Words that were spoken in the night kept repeating in his head and he kept cycling Marinette’s face with Ladybug’s face over and over and over in his mind.

Oh my god, what have I done?

[kurowrites]

Absolutely no one asked, but I did it anyway because ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ . Have prompt 47 from the Meet Cute prompt list: Texting the incorrect number but continuing the conversation.

---

[Unknown]: it’s so cruel of you to change your number without telling me! I’m not feeling the love! you’re breaking my heart! 💔💔💔

Lan Zhan stared at the message sent from a number that was entirely unknown to him. He hadn’t changed his number recently; he’d always used this number, ever since he had first gotten a phone. Someone must have sent him this message by accident.

He usually wasn’t the type to message people that he didn’t know, but he felt slightly bad for whoever this was. It was obvious that the were upset. And it was only courteous to inform this person of their mistake. So, he typed out a short reply.

[Lan Zhan]: I fear you are mistaken. This number has been mine for years – you must have meant to message someone else. Perhaps whoever gave you this number gave you the wrong one.

A reply came almost instantaneously.

[Unknown]: Wen Qing, now you’re overdoing it! is this how you treat our love? 💔 I am shocked and appalled! (also I really need your helppp 🙏🙏🙏)

[Lan Zhan]: I am not Wen Qing. Perhaps you should reflect about why people refuse to give you their number.

[Unknown]: ha, that’s something Wen Qing would say! I am not cheated!!! unmask yourself, fiend! 💀

[Lan Zhan]: You can reply as many times as you want, the answer will still be the same. I am not Wen Qing. You were given the wrong number. I am busy, so I will stop replying now.

With that, he laid his smartphone aside and concentrated on the work he had been doing. For a few hours, he only focused on that, and completely forgot about the messages he had received from the stranger.

Shortly before dinner time, he put his work aside and checked his phone. Perhaps his brother had sent him a message during the day, as he sometimes did. He didn’t expect to hear anything more of the strange message writer. It had been a mistake, they had probably realized by now, and moved on with their live. But to his surprise, he saw that while he had been studying, several messages had been sent from the same unknown number as before.

[Unknown]: Wen Qing, seriously, please stop teasing me. 😭😭😭 I have the number from your brother, so I know it’s the right one.

[Unknown]: Come on, I know you’re not that cruel. And you promised you’d help me. 😭😭😭

[Unknown]: So I checked with Wen Qing’s brother again, and it seems he not only has a number problem, but gave me an ENTIRELY DIFFERENT number. I’m so sorry, random person. 🙇🙇🙇 You were right, I was wrong, I apologise. If you ever need to hide a body, call me. I owe you something. 🙇🙇🙇

Lan Zhan stared at the messages. He was glad, of course, that the issue had been resolved, but the last message was… unorthodox to say the least. Was this person making a joke? He surely hoped it was a joke.

He considered the case for a minute and almost put his phone away, but then he reconsidered.

[Lan Zhan]: I am happy for you that the issue has been resolved. I must object to your proposal, however. I do not intend to commit any murders, now or ever, and certainly would not ask for help in hiding the body. The sentiment is appreciated though.

He was just putting his phone aside when the screen lit up with the notification of a new message.

[Unknown]: LMAO YOU’RE A RIOT 😂

[Unknown]: you type like an old man btw… don’t tell me you’re an old man?? 👴

[Lan Zhan]: I am not. I’m in university.

[Unknown]: talk dirty to me, student. 🤓 hahaha

[Lan Zhan]: The old man might be you.

[Unknown]: EXCUSE?? I’m a young, good-looking, luscious university student myself!! Very sexy, people are lining up around the block to get a chance with me. 🍑🍑🍑

[Unknown]: If they’re into men, that is 🍆

[Lan Zhan]: Doubtful. Wen Qing seems to have a different opinion.

[Unknown]: ….DID YOU JUST DISS ME? RUDE. She’s not into men, just so you know. So if you’re a man, no dice. Also stop insulting me, I do very well, thank you very much. 🍑

[Lan Zhan]: Good luck then. And goodbye.

[Unknown]: No wait!!!! How can you desert me after being such a funny guy? I beg you, entertain me! 💔💔💔

[Lan Zhan]: I was planning to go for dinner.

[Unknown]: booooo 💔

[Unknown]: actually, I’m hungry too

[Unknown]: I would invite you for dinner if I knew you were anywhere close to where I live. I want to put a face to the… messages, I guess. no idea who you are. are you even a guy? I just assumed you’re a guy. 🤓

[Lan Zhan]: I am male.

[Unknown]: and??? I’m in suspense over here!!!

[Lan Zhan]: I told you I’m a student.

[Lan Zhan]: I am reasonably tall, and I’m entering the dining hall now, so I won’t be able to reply.

[Unknown]: NOOOOOOOOO 💔💔💔

Lan Zhan put his phone away and headed towards the trays. As he took one of the trays from the stack, someone nearly stumbled into him.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying exclaimed, hastily putting away the mobile phone he had been staring into until a moment ago. “Fancy meeting you here! Are you having dinner? Wanna eat together?”

Lan Zhan didn’t know Wei Ying very well, other than the things generally known about Wei Ying: that he was loud and excited and sure to create an uproar wherever he was. But he wasn’t a bad person, so Lan Zhan allowed Wei Ying to follow after him as they ordered their food and found an empty table to sit down.

“So, Lan Zhan, had any adventures today?” Wei Ying asked as he started to stuff fried noodles into his face without ceremony.

Lan Zhan thought of the strange case with the mistaken number, but after a moment of consideration, he decided not to tell anyone about it.

It was a very harmless secret, after all.

“Nn,” he replied. “I studied.”

“Aw, Lan Zhan, you need to get out more!” Wei Ying exclaimed. “Listen, there is this one thing that I–”

---

After Lan Zhan had eaten dinner and listened to all the things that Wei Ying had to tell him in between quick bites, he returned to his own dorm. Just a little curious, he once again took out his phone and checked the messages. There was a new one.

[Unknown]: I was serious before, you know. I kinda like your attitude. 💗 And your sass. 😱 Maybe you can give me your name sometime?

Lan Zhan considered the message for a moment. He remembered his uncle warning him and his brother not to talk to strangers, but…

He reread the texts that this stranger had sent him. He didn’t know what it was, but they tickled something in the back of his brain.

In this one case, he thought to himself, he might just be willing to make an exception.

[watchtower-feed]

Death Do We Part (Part 4)

SSA Spin-off ✧ Jason Todd ✧ Physical Link ✧ 1 ✧ 2 ✧ 3 ✧ 4 ✧ 5 ✧ 6 ✧ 7 ✧ 8 ✧ 9 ✧ 10 ✧ 11 ✧ 12 ✧ 13 ✧ 14 ✧ 15 ✧ Notes: Hold out for the next part because I’m telling you it’s going to have the worst combination ever: smut and angst. Also, this is turning into a 6-8 part series and I feel like I’m running out of words. I might post fillers some days but this story will definitely be finished this month. Words: 2,700+

     Your voice echoes in the cave and the only reply you get are their stares. You start laughing hysterically while looking around the room. “Is that what Robin really is? Someone so replaceable? You just find stray kids in Gotham and turn them into unknowing soldiers!”

     You’re breathing through your mouth and you close it immediately. You walk up right to Bruce and glare up at his tall figure. “Jason died. As Robin. He was Robin. And he died because of you.”

     Bruce doesn’t flinch. You keep staring at him, waiting for a reply. Then a thought hits you and your eyes widen. “This is why you don’t want him to know everything,” you’re whispering now and looking frantically at the ground, “If he finds out… Even with his memories, you’re afraid he’ll turn against you .”

      Jason tosses and turns in his bed. He stares at the last words he wrote to you and the empty space where yours was hours ago. It’s true. He doesn’t know who you are. He doesn’t even remember who he is.

      He grunts and sits up. He stares out the small window of his room. His cell. His prison. Ra’s and Talia told him he was free to go any time he wanted. What a cruel thing to say to someone who doesn’t know where he is. Not to mention wherever he is is surrounded by mounds and mounds of sand drifting endlessly with the harsh winds.

      “Yeah,” he sighs to himself, “like hell.”

      What does he even tell you? ‘Y/N, I think I’m in a desert somewhere. You have to look out for a secret base that’s heavily guarded by hundreds of assassins trained to maim intruders on sight.’ Knowing you for just a few hours, he already knows you would rush out and probably get yourself killed trying to save him. Then you’re both dead. Again.

      “No thanks,” he jokes to himself. “Not again. Not for a looooong while this time.”

      Jason suddenly grits his teeth and buries his face in his pillow, angry that he’s just talking to himself. But how can he talk to you now?

      Sleep doesn’t come to Jason. The moment the sun peeks over the sands outside his window, there’s a knock on his door. Talia doesn’t wait for his answer.

      “It’s time, Jason.”

      She stands by the door. Jason grunts loudly and throws the blanket aside. He walks behind Talia as they enter the main chamber of the fortress.

      When Jason last entered this chamber, there were hundreds of assassins clad in black just standing around, stiff and on alert. There was an old man seated on the floor in the middle in colorful garments of red and orange with some green accent. Jason almost laughed at how his mustache hung down the side of his face because of how long it was.

      Now, though, all the humor has definitely left him. There’s only the old man sitting on the floor, Ra’s Al Ghul. Talia’s father. The leader of the League of Assassins. The deadliest secret army in the world. And they had asked Jason to join them.

      “Have you made up your mind, young man?” Ra’s asks the moment Jason and Talia stood in front of him. Jason doesn’t answer and doesn’t look at him. Ra’s narrows his eyes at the boy and then glares at his daughter.

      “Perhaps, father, some incentive will tip his decision toward the League.”

      That definitely caught Jason’s attention, “What kind of incentive?”

      “Information,” Talia smirks before she turns back to her father. “Knowing about his past will do no harm.”

      Ra’s tightens his lips before nodding. Talia sits down and waits for Jason to do the same.

      “What do you want to know first?” she asks.

      Jason mulls it over. What does he want to know first? Should he ask about you? Do they know about your link? How much do they actually know about him really? Should he just go for the painfully obvious?

      “How did I die?”

      Talia smiles as if it was the right question to ask. “You were murdered. You were with your mother,” Jason flinches, “Trapped in a warehouse that was rigged to explode the moment a vigilante called Batman arrived near the perimeter.”

      Jason’s eyes widen and Talia stops talking. This is definitely too much information. And not enough information at the same time. Why isn’t she saying anymore?

      “Did the Batman rig the explosion?” he finally asks.

      Talia raises an eyebrow, “Him? No. The man who killed you is a madman who murders for no reason. The Joker.” She pauses while Jason takes it in. “Batman,” Talia says the alias with softness, “he was trying to save you. The Joker has always been a thorn in Batman’s side and a menace to Gotham-- that’s where you’re from. He’s always trying to push Batman to his limits, trying to find a way to get him to defy his most-honored code: no killing.”

      Ra’s makes a small sound, somewhere between a sigh and a grunt. Talia continues, much gentler this time, placing a hand on Jason’s leg, “He used your death for the same cause.”

      “I don’t understand,” Jason is frustrated, “why me?”

      Ra’s speaks up, “You’re Batman’s partner. You were also his adopted son. Bruce Wayne’s adopted son.”

      Jason’s eyes widen. He shifts his eyes between the two of them, wondering if they’re lying. From everything you have told him, he knows that his parents both left him and he chose to live on the streets. Now Jason understands why you never told him anything beyond that. It’s too close to this. It’s the cause of everything.

      “These names may not mean anything to you now, but once your memories return, you’ll know.”

      “And did he?” Jason’s voice raises their curious glances. “Did he kill the Joker?”

      “No,” Talia answers him, her eyes narrow as she stares into the distance behind him, “No, my dear. It’s clear that his code is the single most important thing to him. Over anyone.”

      Jason clenches his fists. “I’ll do it. I’m in.”

✧ ✧ ✧

      You wake up in your new room from someone knocking. You groan and bury your face deeper into the pillow. Your body feels heavy and fatigued even though all you’ve done for the past couple of days is sleep. Ever since your confrontation in the cave, you have less hope of making Jason cooperate and lesser will to help Bruce in his search.

      The knocking continues. Louder this time and more incessant than all the other times. You want to stomp to the door and yell at Alfred but none of this is his fault. It’s all Bruce. If he hadn’t adopted Jason, the two of you would be working right now, living paycheck to paycheck, in a studio apartment, maybe with a dog. At most you would be together.

      You hear a key jamming into the lock and you shoot up right away. You run to the tall window and hurry it open. When you’re holding the frames and getting ready to climb out, a familiar voice chuckles behind you.

      You turn to Dick, standing by the doorway, amused. “Breaking your legs might get Jason to start talking to you again. Sure.”

      You glare at him and then smile. You step away from the window frame and run to him. He catches you in his arms and hugs you. “You were gone too long!”

      Ever since your fight with Bruce, Dick has been the only one who’s upfront with you with everything. He kept you company whenever you felt lonely and he would update you with everything that’s going on with the search for Jason. But two days ago he left to take care of something in Bludhaven.

      “Next time, please take me with you. I don’t think I can lock myself in this room any longer.” Dick frowns and then turns his head to the side, avoiding your gaze and biting his lip. You narrow your eyes and sigh, “You’re leaving again, aren’t you?”

      “The Titans need me. I’ll be gone for a month, at most.”

      “A month!?”

      “I’ll call you every chance I get, okay?” Dick chuckles, trying to lighten the mood. Then he stops and looks at you with a serious expression, “But you know, you should really start talking to Bruce again.”

      You suddenly feel betrayed, “I have nothing to say to him.”

      But Dick was having none of this today. Your sulking attitude has been going on for days and it’s not helping anyone. “If not to him, then do it for Jason. Tell him about Jason, about the things you might be feeling that can help find him.”

      His words just make you angrier. He sighs and pats your head. “You know he blames himself, right? For everything. He’s hurting too.” Your resolve is weakening because Dick’s voice is turning into a whisper, “He loves Jason, too. We all do.” 

      He tries to look at you while you look at the ground. Finally, you return his gaze. “So I’m asking you. As a favor for me. Stop hiding in Jason’s room and go help Bruce.”

      You don’t. But you do stop locking yourself in Jason’s room. It turns out that the manor is empty most of the time. Sometimes you’d find Alfred in the living room or one of the many studies every now and then and talk to him. He smiles every time you strike up a conversation. 

      You’re surprised to hear he knows so much about you and your family. Then a little sad when you find out why.

      “Would it make you feel better to know that a lot of people attended?”

      You shake your head, “Did my… did my parents cry?”

      “Your mother was always trying to hold back her tears and your father cried when he and master Bruce buried your caskets.”

      Your eyes quickly water and you have to look away from Alfred to rub them harshly.

      “Ah, Master Tim, you’re back.”

      “Yeah I was--” Tim stops the moment he notices you. You try to make yourself small and look away, stubbornly ignoring your tears, hoping he won’t notice. “Oh sorry.” It’s the first time you’ve seen Tim again since finding out he’s the new Robin. In civilian clothing, he really does look nothing like Jason.

      He may be close to Jason’s height when you last saw him but Tim’s limbs look longer because of how slender he is. You wonder if he can actually hold his own in a fight. Can he protect himself?

      Tim turns to leave, “I’ll just--”

      “No, wait,” your voice surprises Tim, Alfred, and yourself. “I’m… sorry.” You rub the back of your neck but continue to avoid looking at him, “None of this is your fault. It doesn’t even have anything to do with you.”

      Tim gives you an uncertain smile and chuckles a little, “Thanks? I guess.”

      You don’t reply because you just feel embarrassed. That was a stupid and resentful thing to say.

      “Oh hey,” Tim walks up to you while pulling out his phone. “We were checking out the surveillance at the graveyard and thought maybe you would want to see this.” He shows you a video of your friends visiting your gravestone. At first, it looks like one of them is crying and then someone hugs them. Quickly, unexpectedly, it turns into an intense makeout session over your grave which makes you cringe.

      “You have a messed up sense of humor, don’t you?”

      Tim places a hand on his hip and smirks, “Comes with the job. Pretty much a requirement if you want to work with the fairy godmother of Gotham.”

      And just like that, you find that you don’t mind Tim so much. He’s not Jason but he can be your friend. You can definitely go to him to badmouth Batman once in a while. He seems to be good at that.

      Then Tim sees the thin slash appear on your cheek before you even feel it. It shocks Alfred onto his feet as well. “Y/N, your cheek!”

      Tim runs out of the room to get the first aid kit while Alfred asks you a barrage of questions. “Are you okay? Does it hurt? Is it master Jason?”

      Slowly, you touch your cheek and feel the sting of an open wound. Your fingers are smeared with blood. “I don’t know…” you whisper in a panic.

      Tim comes back and immediately dabs it with a gauze. “It’s not deep. But it’s definitely a clean cut. A bullet or a sword.”

      Neither of those possibilities makes you feel better at all. You immediately take out the pen Alfred gave you on your first night. 

      Jason are you okay? Are you in trouble? Are you hurt?

      The three of you wait for his reply, standing in a circle with your arm in the middle. After several minutes, Tim narrows his eyes and gives up. He goes through the first aid kit and takes out some antiseptic and a smaller gauze.

      You let him tend to your wound but you never take your eyes off of your arm. Alfred finally sighs, dejected, and closes his eyes. He holds the back of his chair for support before heading for the door. “I’ll inform Master Bruce. Please tell us right away if there’s news.”

      “You should go, too,” you mutter loud enough for Tim to hear.

      He looks at you for a second but you’re still staring intently at the clear skin on your arm, waiting. Tim finally turns to go and closes the door behind him. You stand there for hours. You can see the sun’s rays dimming behind you.

      Finally, Alfred returns. He looks upset the moment he sees you. He sighs and calls you for dinner. You shake your head and turn away so you don’t have to see him. 

      When he closes the door you immediately remember Dick. He’ll probably tell him what happened, how you’ve gone back to making no progress at all. Why are they obsessed with helping you anyway? They should be more concerned with Jason right now. Like you are.

      Did it hurt?

      The words are clear even in the partial darkness and your hands shake as you immediately reply.

      No. I didn’t feel it. Are you okay? What happened?

      You finally sit down slowly as you watch more writing appear on your arm, making you relieved.

      Just some exercise. Got a bit careless. I’m okay.

      It’s the most Jason has ever written to you, the most he’s been civil and sympathetic since you came back to life. You hope he doesn’t stop writing.

      By the way, I found out about how we died.

      You gulp immediately. Your pen is hovering over your arm when his next words arrive.

      I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have had to go through that. How come you didn’t tell me?

      You’re angry again and tears are pouring down your cheeks.

      No, Jason. It’s not your fault. It’s not! I didn’t tell you because I knew you were going to blame yourself and 

      And? And what? Bruce told you not to tell him? Because he would never come home? You bite your lips.

      reminding you of who you are is more important than that.

      You cringe as you write it. It’s true but you also know you’re using it as a lie to cover up the truth. You quickly write something again before he does.

      I would die ten more times for you. If it means we can finally be together.

      Jason laughs and a small blush is growing rapidly along his cheeks. He finds your tenacity amusing.

      Have you always been this sappy? Did I write corny shit like that back to you?

      You almost scoff at his reply. It’s nice to see that his personality still hasn’t changed. You smirk and look at the small writing Dick had done on your other arm, the arm you and Jason don’t write on because of the last thing he wrote. You circle it and write beside it.

      Like this?

      You feel a little smug but then there’s a long pause and then his writing.

      Did I write that just before we died?

      You bite your lips and rest your head against the back of the chair. You pinch yourself twice. You still know how each blow felt like and sometimes your muscles would spasm when you see it in your head. The moving room. The floor meeting your face. That crowbar that you now know was used to beat up Jason.

      You can still feel the sudden sucking air before the huge blast knocks your body away and the loss of all feeling before you even hit the ground. You lost your consciousness mid-air. You wonder if it was because of the strength of the blast or the sensitivity of your link, but from what Dick had told you, your body was thrown against the wall by an invisible force.

      You hug yourself and watch new writing appear.

      Did it hurt?

      You lay your head to the side. Exhausted from this conversation. Already tired of this second life.

        Jason, please. Come home. 

✧ 1 ✧ 2 ✧ 3 ✧ 4 ✧ 5 ✧ 6 ✧ 7 ✧ 8 ✧ 9 ✧ 10 ✧ 11 ✧ 12 ✧ 13 ✧ 14 ✧ 15 ✧

✧ Watchtower Masterlist ✧

[vgckwb]

P5R: Rebel Girl (A FeMC Story/P5R Rework) Chapter 57: Ducks in a Row

That night. Sae stood in front of a doorway. She knocked. Naoko answered. “Ah, Sae. What brings you here?”

“Don’t play dumb with me!” She shouted. She held up the manifesto. “Did you really think I wouldn’t know this was from you? I could turn you in, you know.”

Naoko looked at it. “Ah, I think I heard some of my buddies who are still on the force talking about this.”

“Cut the crap!” Sae said.

Naoko chuckled. “Sorry. But you can’t pin this on me with just this little note. Have you found any hard evidence that points this to me?” Sae glared at him. “Still, even if I was the one behind it, why bother coming to me at all?”

“I’m giving you a chance to stop,” Sae said. “As a courtesy to my father.”

“Heh,” Naoko said. “Classic Sae; always wanting to help others, but doesn’t know how to show it.”

“Forgive me for not be appreciative of premeditated murder” Sae shot back.

Naoko was impressed with Sae’s tenacity. But he was still unshaken from his new found path. “Tell me, is this manifesto the first new thing you’ve heard about Kaneshiro? At least for a while?”

“Why do you ask?” Sae responded.

“I’m just saying,” Naoko said. “Another trademark of Classic Sae is that you’re always so focused on everything else that you don’t know what’s going on in front of your own eyes.”

Sae got angrier. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Naoko chuckled. “How IS Makoto doing these days?”

Sae grabbed Naoko. “You leave her out of this!”

“How can I when she’s already in so deep?!” Naoko retorted. The two stared at each other for a while.

Eventually, Sae let go, and proceeded to leave. “I can’t protect you if you get caught, you know” she threatened before she got out of earshot. Naoko had a blank look on his face as he closed the door.

The next day, Makoto met with the student council. She stood firm. “OK. We’ve been looking into the incidents of students being harassed by gang members, and we’ve gotten rather far. However, I think we’ve reached the end of our capacity to do anything.” There were some murmurs, while Kisa looked disheartened. “However,” Makoto continued, causing Kisa to perk up a little, “I have given the information to people who can help solve the problem. So we can rest assured that this will be resolved. When is a little ambiguous, but it will be before exams. With that, you are dismissed.” Everyone nodded and broke off. Well, almost.

Kisa stood still as everyone left. When the last person left, she told Makoto. “Thank you.” Makoto nodded. Kisa left.

After Kisa left. Makoto loosened up a litte, then got serious. “The real fight starts now.”

After school, Ren messaged Makoto.

Ren: You busy?

Makoto: Not really. Why?

Ren: I was thinking we could head out as a group to get our facts straight.

Ren: And since you’re part of the group now…

Makoto: I see.

Makoto: I’m glad to.

Ren: Great!

Ren: I guess just meet us outside.

They put their phones away and met up; heading toward the access panel hideout. Once they arrived, Ren said “So, here we are. I know it’s not much, but it is what it is.”

“Huh,” Makoto said. “Isn’t this a bit open?”

“Well, that’s sort of the point,” Sumire said, defending the choice. “We’re essentially hiding in plain sight.”

“Right, but if someone is looking for you, they might not have to look all too hard,” Makoto said. “Before all of this, I have followed you here a few times in my investigations of you.”

“Oh” Sumire said, dejected.

“However, I think I may have a solution!” Makoto said. “Oh, but I’m new here. I might be overstepping my bounds a bit.”

Ren smiled. “Not at all. We’re a team here. Everyone’s input is valid.”

“Well, in that case, ” Makoto said, “I have an ice cream shop with our name on it.”

“Ummmm” Sumire said. “It’s not that I don’t like that idea, but we did discuss this before, and we decided that maybe going to a food place for our hideout might be a bit of a distraction.”

“Oh. Yeah, I guess I can see that” Makoto said. “Well, does anyone mind the hideout being in Kichijoji then? I know of a place there that could work.”

“Well, it IS a fair distance away,” Yusuke noted. “And I only have so much money…”

“Um, we can just use the Metaverse funds,” Ryuji said.

“Wait, that place gives out real money?” Makoto said. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

“Well, if it is, it’s too late now,” Ren said. “But I haven’t had any problems. It’s almost as if the economy is taking this all into consideration.”

“Well, I haven’t heard about any big economic problems…” Makoto thought. “So, I guess it’ll be alright.”

“Hold on,” Ann said. “While money might not be an issue, we’d have to go from Shibuya to Kichijoji, then back to Shibuya for any missions..”

“Oh. Right” Makoto said.

“Well, maybe we can go to this place just to hang out sometime” Ryuji offered.

Makoto smiled. “I’d like that.”

“So, I guess we’re staying here then,” Jose said. “Unless we have any other ideas.”

“I think here is fine for now,” Yusuke said. “But this Kaneshiro person IS a rather big fish. Once we change his heart, it might be a good idea to find someplace else to meet up.”

“That’s a good point,” Makoto said. “And if and when Naoko’s note goes public, that’ll only further fan the flames.”

“Speaking of Kaneshiro though,” Morgana interjected, “that’s something else we need to discuss. Our previous two big targets are ones at least some of us were familiar with. This will be the first time we’re going in mostly blind.”

“Yeah,” Ren said. “On the one hand, that’s a sort of comfort. We’re not learning anything deep and disgusting about someone we know already.”

“But on the other hand, that doesn’t prepare us well for what’s to come,” Sumire countered. “Which is a difficulty of its own.”

“True” Yusuke agreed. “Sometimes when you roll the iron dice, you come up snake eyes. So maybe some knowledge would be beneficial in tipping that scale.”

“Well, from what Kisa has told me from her interaction, he’s really aggressive and belligerent,” Makoto explained. “He’s really more invested in his bottom line than anything, and he’ll do anything to get it.”

“You said you’ve done some research as well…” Ann added.

“Yes,” Makoto replied. “He’s a really big name in the criminal underworld. Although, from what I could tell, he’s a bit different from people you’d usually find down there.”

“How so?” Morgana asked.

“I’m not sure entirely, but from the looks of things, even some in the criminal underworld are afraid of him,” Makoto explained. “And those who aren’t seem almost disgusted with him.”

“Huh. Maybe this uniqueness might explain why HE’S the gangster with a palace” Jose rationalized.

“That’s not a bad assumption,” Ren said.

“Hm,” Ryuji grunted. “Sounds like this guy is gonna be coming at anyone who doesn’t like him with full force.”

“But at the same time, he sounds like he might have a few tricks up his sleeve,” Jose added.

“Yeah. Dude definitely fights dirty” Ryuji said.

“So we need a strong approach, but the ability to think on the fly,” Yusuke said. “Well, if that’s not Ren, I don’t know what is.”

“Aw, you’re making me blush” Ren said, grinning ear to ear. “But don’t just sing my praises.” She looked at Makoto. “Our newest recruit has that moxie in her too.”

Makoto was stunned. “Oh, well…”

“Don’t worry, it's a compliment” Ren said. “You’re one of us now.”

“Oh. Well then thank you” Makoto said, embarrassed about this for reasons she couldn’t explain.

“I think that’s everything we can surmise about Kaneshiro” Ann said. “So, what about Naoko?”

Makoto was surprised. “Oh, well, there’s a lot I know about him. In a lot of ways, he’s like a second father to me. He’s usually an affable person; that’s part of the reason he and my father worked so well together. My father was a little more reserved, but was always open to almost anything. They both knew when to take things seriously, but they also both knew when to crack jokes, or just have fun. Naoko was a bit more louder on that front though.

He’d come over sometimes, and we grew close. Eventually, we met his sister, and that’s when Kisa and I became friends. My father and Naoko would take us to the ice cream shop I mentioned earlier whenever they solved a big case. It was a nice little way of getting everyone in on the celebration.”

Makoto took a brief pause. “But when my father died in the line of duty, Naoko grew frustrated. He was upset not only by the loss of his partner and friend, but also that the police, the very institution he served, didn’t seem to take the investigation into it all that seriously. So, in a fury, he quit, and became a private investigator.”

“Woah,” Jose said.

“That’s quite a story…” Ann said.

After a moment of silence, Ryuji bursted out with “I’m sorry.” Everyone looked at him. “It’s just,” he sighed, “I told him about you, and Kisa, and then he figured it out, and it set him off on this crusade. If I hadn’t said anything…”

“Don’t beat yourself up, Sakamoto,” Makoto said. “Naoko is a brilliant detective. I’m sure he would have figured it out, especially if Kisa was involved.” Makoto grew serious again. “Naoko’s wife died of cancer four years into their marriage. So Kisa’s the closest thing he has to a child, so he’s very protective. My sister and I are the second closest, and he can be a bit protective with us too.”

“He’s lost his wife and his partner,” Yusuke remarked. “That’s...a lot to deal with…”

“But I get it,” Sumire said. “I’d hate to lose anyone else right now too…” Ren looked over, glanced around, and gave Sumire a gentle side-hug. Sumire smiled. “Thanks.”

“Right…” Makoto said, acknowledging she knows, but not actually saying anything.

After another silence, Jose summarized “So, Naoko is also bringing his full force to bear.”

“Yeah,” Makoto said. “Which means we need to swing for the fences ourselves. If we’re going to save Naoko and Kisa, and make Kaneshiro confess to his crimes, we CAN’T afford to slip up.”

Ren started up a slow clap. Pretty soon, the rest of the Phantom Thieves joined in, aside from Morgana because paws can’t clap, but he wanted to. “Spoken like a true leader,” Ren said.

“Oh” Makoto said, surprised and embarrassed. “But aren’t you the leader?”

“Of the Phantom Thieves, sure” Ren said. “But you’re the head of the student council, and I can see why now.”

“Speaking of, I should also apologize,” Ann said. “I was really frustrated with the whole Kamoshida thing, and I thought you were among the people who wouldn’t hear me when I was screaming, and I took out some of my frustration on you. But I realize now that you would. So, I’m sorry.”

Makoto walked up and gave Ann a hug. “It’s OK. I’m sure it wasn’t easy what you were going through. And I get it. You thought those things of me because someone wanted you to. But now I’m working on trying to find myself and stand up for who I am. If anything, I’m the one who’s sorry.”

Ann broke out in tears and hugged Makoto back. After she finished crying, Ann grew determined. “I forgive you. You had a lot of pressure on you too. I can’t be mad at that. I know what that's like.”

Makoto smiled. “I forgive you too, Takamaki.”

Ann giggled. “Thanks. But, um, could you just call me Ann? And could I just call you Makoto?”

Makoto giggled in response. “I don’t see why not.” She looked over the group. “I think the offer extends to everyone as well. We’re all friends, right?”

“Of course,” Yusuke said.

“Uh-huh,” Jose said.

“Yeah!” Ryuji exclaimed.

“I’d like that,” Sumire said.

“I’ve been kind of doing it anyway,” Ren admitted.

“Heh heh” Morgana chuckled. “Makoto’s good for this world… But what do we call you, shall we say, professionally?”

“What?” Ryuji said.

“Her thief name…” Morgana said. “I was trying to be discreet.”

“You could just say it outright,” Ryuji fired back. “Only we can hear you, ya know.”

“Well, it’s still cool…” Morgana retorted.

“Hm, that is a good question, regardless” Ren said. She turned to Makoto. “Well what do you want to be?”

“Oh, what about ‘Biker’?” Ryuji suggested.

“Pass!” Makoto said. “It’s too obvious.”

“I agree,” Yusuke said.

“Your name is FOX’ Ryuji said. “If that’s not obvious…”

“It is,” Yusuke agreed. “But my name is reflective of a bold stroke, and as an artist, I prefer that boldness. But Makoto is more elegant and tactical. She should have a name that reflects as such.”

“Thank you, Yusuke,” Makoto said, smiling.

Ryuji hung his head. “One of these days, I really need to learn to shut my mouth.”

“Why not ‘Prez’?” Ann suggested. “Since she’s the student council president.”

“Well, that’s also a bit obvious,” Makoto informed her. “Just in a different direction.”

“Oh” Ann said.

“Heh heh” Ren chuckled. “Elegant? Tactical? I have a name that’s all that AND more.”

“Oh? By all means” Makoto invited.

“‘Queen’” Ren suggested.

Makoto thought about it. She smiled. “Queen it is.”

“Heh heh” Morgana chuckled. “I was just about to suggest that as well.” Ren raised her first up. Morgana bumped it with his paw.

“So, now that that’s all settled” Sumire said, “all that’s left is to finalize the end date.”

“Right,” Makoto said. “The note Naoko left was fairly clear. He’s going to find and kill Kaneshiro by the 11th of July. So, we have until then.”

“Well then, I suggest we get prepared,” Ren said. Everyone nodded. “Dismissed.” Everyone smiled and headed off in their own direction.

That night, at the Niijima household, Makoto and Sae were eating dinner. Sae was glancing at Makoto. Makoto took notice of this. “Is something on your mind?” Makoto asked.

Sae looked deep into her eyes. “Is there anything going on I should know about?” she asked.

“What do you mean?” Makoto responded.

“Are you doing alright?” Sae continued. “Outside of school stuff?”

It took Makoto a second to realize. She read the manifesto too. Of course she would know Naoko wrote it. Does that mean she met with him? Makoto answered “Oh. Well, the truth is, there have been some incidents of gangsters harassing some of the students.”

Sae slammed the table. “What?”

“Ah,” Makoto yelped.

Sae glared at her, but slid her fist back down to her side. “Sorry. But why didn’t you say anything?”

“Well, I wanted to gather as much information as I could before I told you…” Makoto said. “But things got out of hand, and in a desperate move…”

Sae was concerned. “What?”

“...I posted a message asking the Phantom Thieves for help,” Makoto finished.

“WHAT?!” Sae said, surprised.

“I know,” Makoto said. “It was dumb, but I didn’t know what else to do. But I realized I shouldn’t, and deleted the post like 15 minutes after I made it. But the Phantom Thieves took notice of it anyway, and started messaging me.”

“They MESSAGED you?” Sae said, still in disbelief.

Makoto nodded. “And they’re using some sort of advanced programming, so the messages were deleted. They really don’t want to leave a trace. So, they agreed to help me, and I helped them out too by giving them the information I collected.”

Sae looked at Makoto, and then the table. This SOUNDS a bit suspicious,  she looked back up, but I don’t think Makoto would lie about this kind of thing. Perhaps Naoko stumbled across the investigation the Phantom Thieves were making with Makoto’s information. If that’s the case, he might know who they are, or at least one of them. Still, I don’t think he’s in the mood to tell me right now. Sae sighed. “Well, I’m glad you told me the truth.”

Makoto sighed. “Thanks sis.”

“Just try to be more careful in the future,” Sae reminded her. “You might be safe now, but if things even remotely look like they might get out of hand, you come tell me right away. Or at least someone who can handle it.”

“Right…” Makoto said, feeling a sting that was unintended and unnoticed by Sae, but it hurt all the same.

Later, when Makoto was in her room, pondering her sister’s behavior and attitude, she thought aloud “Sis… You’ve changed too… I know the you I once knew is in there somewhere…” She glanced at her phone. Curious, she picked it up, loaded the Metaverse app, and gently whispered “Sae Niijima.”

“Match found” the phone responded. Makoto looked at it. Her sister’s name was in black, but unlike Kaneshiro’s the two following lines were also in black. Makoto was a little relieved, since no one was trying to actively kill her sister, but at the same time, she grew worried, since her sister had a palace of her own.

“Well… if no one’s trying to kill her…” Makoto said. “It might be better to hold onto this for now…” She set her phone down, changed into her pajamas, and got under her covers to go to sleep.

[starryevermore]

paradise island: a review

A note before we begin: everything above the cut will be spoiler free and will just be my general feelings about the story as a whole, the writing, and if I’d recommend it. Everything below the cut will include spoilers to explain my feelings about the story.

Rating: 3/5 stars

Visiting the North Shore had been a bizarre and unsettling experience, to say the least, but when they got home after vacation was over, he was going to suggest to Colby that they make a video about it.

Hell, no. Even better. Write a book. Videos melted away after a while, but a book? Books and stories solidified on the conscious mind forever. (91-92)

Overall, I enjoyed this book. I generally enjoy stories like this, but there were a few moments throughout the novel where things just fell a bit flat. 

While I was reading, I made a few notes, the first being that there was a weird juxtaposition between talking about more adult topics (drinking, women, sex, etc.) but in an odd, almost kid-friendly way. Some of the word choices were interesting, such as constant use of “fancy-pants”, “hottie”, “goofball”, “oddball”, and “doofus”, as well as the one moment where Colby said he hated “dicky” people and the moment where Sam said Colby was about to have an “emo-ruption”. (Though I did laugh a lot longer than I should have at “emo-ruption”.) It felt like they were still trying to make the story appropriate for their younger fans by using more kid-friendly language, while also appealing to their older fans by being like “look!! we drink!! and ooh look, we talked about smoking weed 👀🤪”. I wish they would’ve committed to one or the other, because it added an odd sense of disjointedness to the story that could’ve been easily resolved.

The other big thing I made note of was that there was a lot of “tell, not show” throughout. There’s a heavy focus on dialogue to progress the story rather than seeing into the boys’ inner thoughts and using other means to find out information. (I’m not one to talk, though, since I also focus more on dialogue than description.) It sometimes made it difficult to fully get into the story. I struggled with developing a picture of what the Belle Estate looked like, or what the other characters (beside SNC, Nate, and Alex) looked like. In terms of the boys, it seemed very reliant on us knowing who Sam and Colby are and what they’re all about (which is fair, since probably 99.9% of people who bought the book are fans of them but, if they want success outside of their audience, it could’ve been more descriptive in that regard). 

As for the big twist at the end, it was a bit lackluster. I’ll go more in detail on this in the “spoiler section”, but it kind of diminished everything that had happened throughout the story and left me wondering “what was the point?”. 

I was excited when I’d heard that the story was told through both Sam and Colby’s POVs, but, I’ll be honest, I saw little difference between Sam’s chapters than Colby’s chapters. The most difference was the almost stereotypical portrayal of Sam being the logical one while Colby being the emotional one. Aside from that, they were almost indistinguishable from me and I often had to flip back to the start of a chapter to remind myself of who’s head I was in.

Since that was all critical, here’s some things I did like:

I feel like, while the inner monologues were a bit lacking, Gaby did make up for it by making the dialogue between the boys really realistic to them. In this regard, she really nailed the portrayal of them. 

The depiction of the paranormal things was really great. I feel like those parts were the ones I could get most into the story. The way Gaby wrote them was so interesting and pulled me in. I wish there was more of these moments throughout the story, because I think they really showcased who Gaby is as a writer.

The convo where Colby called Sam “Velma” and then Nate asked if Colby was “Fred”? I really enjoyed that because (a) Scooby is my favorite thing in the whole world and (b) I chose Sam and Colby be Velma and Fred in my moodboards a month ago so just a lil fun moment for me.

Just how meta the book was. Like, the quote I included at the top? I laughed for way too long when I read that. 

There was a nice sense of nostalgia throughout, specifically when they brought up their YouTube channel, their Vine days, them being arrested, wining a Teen Choice Award, and Corey and the Shadowman. It made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside, and reminded me of how proud I am for how far they’ve come.

*slight spoiler here* Speaking of being arrested, there was a moment where SNC were contemplating escaping to the beach and they had a conversation if it was worth being arrested again. I really loved that, especially with how much fans joke about them inevitably being arrested again.

This is more for the person who designed the cover, but holy shit?? I loved it so much?? 

I don’t know if I would have picked this book up if it didn’t have Sam and Colby’s name attached to it. I will say, though, I finished the book in one sitting, which is pretty rare for me nowadays, so it was engaging. I think, overall, it was a great story with a great concept but it could’ve been fleshed out more. In some ways, it almost felt like this was a draft rather than a completed novel. 

That being said, for SNC’s first book and Gaby’s first time working with the boys, it exceeded my expectations. If they were to continue writing books together, I imagine it will get better and better as they get more used to each other and potentially open up more so that their characters become a more accurate depiction of them.

Overall, the book’s not something you really need to race out to get. I think, if you have a gift card or there’s some sort of deal or you need to spend a little more to get free shipping, it wouldn’t hurt to pick up Paradise Island. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t a great, top-tier novel in my opinion. That being said, if you do pick it up, I think you will enjoy the book.

Spoiler Avenue

The characterization of all four of the boys is a bit 2D. Sam’s logical and wants to keep the peace, Colby’s emotional and more of a wildcard, Nate’s focused on his schoolwork and flexing his vocabulary, and Alex? Well, I couldn’t get a good read on Alex until he sells out SNC at the end of the novel and even then, he didn’t feel so much like his own character, more like someone just present to further the plot.

Speaking of characters, the introduction of Trey was...meh. I wish we could’ve gotten more insight on why Colby was so adamant about not liking Trey and why Nate was so gung ho to ditch their plans to go to the North side of the island for this guy they barely knew. Finding out that Colby didn’t like Trey because he said college was the only way to success was such an odd thing? Like, undoubtedly there’s been many people who would’ve said that, so does Colby also dislike everyone who’s said that or is there a more specific reason he didn’t like Trey? Just...👏🏻 more 👏🏻 inner 👏🏻 thoughts 👏🏻 please 👏🏻 and 👏🏻 thank 👏🏻 you 👏🏻 

@golbrocklovely​ brought this up in her review but Colby’s fixation on the  mermaid statue of a 16-year-old was really odd. It probably wouldn’t have been as odd if Amy was aged up a bit to 18, but as a 16-year-old with the descriptions that were given? Yeah...not the vibe.

I also wasn’t a fan of how so many things plot-wise was just...told to the boys. They could’ve found some newspaper clippings or something, anything to make them put in a little bit of detective work. But for so much information to just be handed to them? It got old, and almost lazy. 

The big twist being that all of the paranormal stuff they’d encountered being a hallucination? God, that was so fucking annoying (though I did go back afterwards from the moment that they first arrived at the Belle Estate—starting as early as page 36—and it felt incredibly obvious knowing now that it was all drugs, so props to Gaby for dropping that many hints early on). To spend so much time making all of this scary shit happen just to turn around and say “HAHA JK THE BOYS WERE JUST TRIPPING BALLS” was such a cop out. It would’ve been more terrifying for it all to be real, make the boys question their beliefs and the reality of there being something out there that they didn’t quite understand. Though, there is something terrifying about not knowing you’ve been drugged and having hallucinated that vividly, but I feel like it didn’t quite fit in with the story. 

Alex betraying the boys? So interesting! This was one of the few things that made sense in terms of them being drugged. But then when he was betrayed when Pauahi (who’s name was misspelled a few different times in the book) escaped? Ugh, amazing. We love instant karma like that. 

Going back to the “tell not show” thing, I wish the sacrifice at the end would’ve been more detailed. For all of the paranormal stuff to be written off as a drug-induced hallucination, I would’ve loved if Gaby had leaned more into the horror of being used in a human sacrifice. There was more of a focus on Colby bargaining for his life, which is fair, but I would’ve loved to see more of the pure terror there.

That being said, the way Trey finally snapped out of it? *chef’s kiss* Loved that shit so much. And I loved the fact that Trey stayed behind in the end. It added a nice eeriness to the story that had been lacking since they debunked the paranormal shit as being hallucinations. 

Again, going back to my overall, thoughts, I enjoyed the book in general. Some things could’ve been fleshed out a bit more to reach its full potential. I wish they leaned more into the paranormal aspect and had more descriptions to balance out all of the dialogue, but other than that, I did enjoy the book and don’t regret buying it. 

[batbootie]

My hands on your hearts -chap.2

Damian was bored. Out of his mind, left counting the holes on the ceiling, that bored students like him did with a ruler and an ink refill. Boredom was recurrent whenever he is at school, because no one can match his intelligence, even the teachers. The most of them can’t even resolve a three-degree equation without the help of a calculator. ��He was raised since birth to rule, and he will be going to inherit the leadership of Wayne enterprises anyway, so there is no need for him to learn anymore. And to go to school for that matter. Really, what kind of school has no adaptation program for children who clearly are way superior then the average student?

But today, his boredom was reaching new heights. If boredom even has a level. Economy class was a, as Jason so colourfully puts it, pain in the left nut, because he already knew everything on the subject of the horizontal division of work from Adam Smith and its consequences on the society, but the teacher decided that, even though his grades showed that he clearly had the level of a university student, he should stay in class to try and socialise with the others.

Clearly, M. Judas had a chat with Father or Grayson. Traitor.  So, Damian was left glaring at the clock or at the teacher, urging for the class to end so that everybody, mainly him, could get on with their lives. He had started drawing a while ago, but even his imagination was bored. He couldn’t even get inspired by his surroundings, because school was boring even his imagination. He had drawn all his classmates, and his sketches were all about school, complete blueprints of the building’s structure and how many escapes routes existed. It was so uninteresting that despite the correctness of the sketch and the ideas for escape, Mother would be ashamed to see that his child was incapable to stay focused for more than 10 minutes or that he was not murdering them for boring him to death.

Sighing, Damian let his pencil roll out of his hand, wishing that he was anywhere but here, or that something interesting would happen in the course of the next three minutes. If nothing occurred in this time lapse, then he would come up with a shitty excuse, like a Father had a ski accident kind of lame excuse, even though that one was getting old, and go straight back to the Manor, to continue his work on the drug shipment case or search an idea for a gift, to offer at Jason’s birthday.

He already had everything planned for Grayson’s. For Drake, on the other hand, it clearly was a challenge. Because he knew next to nothing about Drake, except that he considered sleep like a distraction and that he’s a genius. But Damian was trying to make amend for some time now, and the only way to show Drake that he meant what he said back then. Back when he realised that he had grown to love his brother and that trying to murder his adopted brother was not how he would be accepted by Father or the entire family, even Cass disapproved his behaviour, or even a way to show love. But because Drake was a mastermind, he wouldn’t believe a word Damian said as an apology. So showing through actions, kind gestures was the plan. And what best opportunity is it then a birthday gift?

Even Grayson didn’t know about his change of heart. If he did, Damian wouldn’t have lived that down and Drake would’ve suspected something fishy. And he would lose all kind of credibility to make amend.

Hearing a forced cough, Damian came back to the sombre reality, realising that he was still in the classroom, and that the three minutes were up. Leaning to the side, he was ready to snatch his backpack and leave this smelly room full of goons in a matter of seconds when M. Judas decided to use this very moment to stand in front of the class and start speaking with a stern voice, eyeing carefully every student and quirking an eyebrow at Damian, clearly seeing that he had no intention whatsoever to stay.

“Okay everyone! I know some of you are impatient to leave for your Geometry class, but before the hour is up and I give you homework, I have some announcements to make. First of all, there was a change in the school policy, thanks to a reorganisation on the teacher’s level. As some of you may know, some teachers overlooked the actions of bullies, rich ones particularly, deciding to turn a blind eye and let things happen. But not anymore. You need to know that this is unacceptable, and will be punished, should you be a perpetrator or only a bystander. If anything of this nature occurs, I want to be informed, because if I don’t know anything, then I won’t be able to help you. Is that understood?”

The class hummed a half-hearted affirmation, some students clearly not believing that this new policy would change anything and deciding to continue their little games of pushing around the weaker students. Damian rolled his eyes, because really? This decision came from a good intention, but any students that would decide to take the teachers upon their offer will end up ostracised, being an even bigger target.

“Secondly, there’s a new student coming in today.”

The silence in the classroom was broken, the students starting to buzz with energy, eager to meet a new classmate -or a new victim, depending on the person-. Murmurs spread, questioning on the new student’s identity. Damian perked his head up in interest, letting his backpack fall to the floor and leaning in, something finally happening that would maybe enlighten his day. The teacher decided to open the door and stretched his neck in the corridor, calling and motioning for someone to come in.

The tension was palpable, like lions getting ready for the innocent lamb that would inevitably be thrown in. Finally, a hunched form made its way to the front, hiding behind the teacher’s back, the hoodie on its head and completely drenched in rainwater. M. Judas turned around as they came to a stop on their way to the teacher’s desk and whispered something to the new student, probably trying to encourage them and reassure them that nothing bad is going to happen. As if he can protect them from it, heh. He then stepped aside and let the class take the new student in.

Freckles. And scared. Those two elements jump in front of Damian’s mind as he takes the appearance of the new student, a girl, or a boy? They look androgynous. The next ten seconds are spent in silence, as the student shuffles with their hoodie, trying to hide their nervousness. A big breath, and they finally speak, catching everybody off guard by pushing off their hoodie. “Hello. My name is Isaac. I’m fourteen, like the most of you. I transferred here because my family had a job offer in Gotham and now I see why it was so well payed. I hope that we will understand each other and get along well. I am pleased to meet you.”

His voice. He is fourteen, but his voice has already cracked and is in a lower tune then the teacher’s. Damian is puzzled. His stance clearly shows that he is near a panic attack, ready to bolt out of the classroom should anything go wrong, but his voice is perfectly controlled. No wavering because of the nervousness, just a low tone hitting all the notes, in a perfect rhythm. The class is mesmerized, everybody’s jaws is on the floor –the teacher and Damian alike-  looking at what seems like the perfect embodiment of the absolute pitch, even being slightly awkward.  

With that, the boy, Isaac, his name’s Isaac, blushes furiously and quickly goes to his seat, to only stand awkwardly in the alley when he realises that he has none. “Hum… M. Judas? Where should I sit?”

The teacher shakes himself after being asked that question, but can only motion to an empty area near the window, next to Damian, with an incoherent gibberish. Clearly, if the teacher had all his brain cells functioning normally, he would’ve put Isaac at the extreme opposite, but no, Damian is stuck with Isaac for the rest of the year.

Damian shrugs himself out of the magic Isaac’s voice induced. Furious, verging to kill and hide the body kind of anger, without crossing that line in reality (really), he felt attacked by the teacher to consider him appropriate for the new student to sit beside him. Even if Isaac is a new kid, it doesn’t mean that he, Damian Al Ghul Wayne, has to give up the privilege of sitting alone and not have to be annoyed by unnecessary gossip other students love to share. Sitting down, Isaac looks Damian dead in the eye until Damian snaps, “What?” He just shrugs before looking down to his backpack, taking out a pen and a piece of paper before answering him, “Nothing, just don’t kill me.”

Don’t kill me? Why would I? Except getting on my nerves, I have no reason to legitimately kill you.

Damian quirked an eyebrow at Isaac, surprised by the last sentence, that had been said with gravity, absolutely no jokes in there. The tone was still controlled, like during his little speech in front of the class, but was tenser than before, if that was even possible. In fact, after Isaac had spoken, he avoided any eye contact with the Wayne sitting beside him, going to the extent to turn partially his back on him.

Perplexed, Damian shifted in his seat, to see Isaac flinch so slightly that without his training, he would’ve missed it. He taped his pencil on the side of the table and then on his sketchbook, observing Isaac for this experiment. For every sound, the boy moved, crocking his head to the side at the first tap before relaxing slightly after associating the sound with a pencil when he reproduced it on his own pencil case. Isaac was giving Damian his undivided attention, but without looking at him.

Damian’s eyebrow shot to his hairline when he realised that his new classmate was using a technique to get him to relax. With a behaviour that screamed ‘nothing to see, so not a threat here’ with his back turned on him, Isaac was exposing the back of his neck to Damian, in a sign of peace. He was trusting the Wayne not to kill him, like he asked. That kind of behaviour spoke to the animal that was walking alongside the rational part of the brain, sharing with each other the human skin. This gesture was like coming up to someone with the hands wide open, arms free, torso unprotected, but Damian wouldn’t have trusted such stance, because hands were as deadly as weapon. But how Isaac was sitting didn’t allow him to move quickly enough to make a move on Damian or to defend himself should Damian decide to attack. The power of decision was in the hand of the fifth Robin, even though Isaac was clearly following every of his movements, not being stupid enough to trust him on an intimate level.

Damian was intrigued. Clearly, Isaac thought that Damian was enough a threat that he should make clear on an instinctual basis that he wasn’t there to threaten him. So it meant that he was completely serious back then, when he asked not to kill him. He truly believed that Damian had already killed, and that he may consider him a threat and decide to eliminate him. But he wasn’t submitting to his strength, merely offering an olives branch. If he wanted acknowledge Damian’s ‘dominance’ and show that he was situating himself below him, then he would’ve exposed his throat and heart, making Damian’s life easier if he wanted to rip his throat out.  

They stayed like this for three minutes or more, in complete silence, Isaac still turning his back on Damian but assessing the threat he represented and Damian weighting the pros and cons. Finally, he sighed, “-Tt- I don’t kill, so there is no need to bare your neck and pray for the best. I’m not going to begin with such a low-life like you. You don’t even have a last name, Isaac.” Isaac’s back relaxed completely, his shoulders slopping down. He turned to Damian, still not looking at him in the eye, a heavy sigh leaving his lips. “Hey, I mean, you were going all Silence of the lambs on me, so you can’t blame a boy for trying his best to avoid a bloodshed, especially if he’s the one who’s going to end bolognesed. Man, red was all over the place. And it was buzzing like crazy, with the war tambours out.” He shuddered visibly, and scratched his ear, as if trying to get rid of an annoying sound. “Why were you angry?”

Damian scoffed, annoyed that he pinpointed that out, even through his mask of the annoyed but perfect student, and escaped the question “Red?”. He did not grasp completely why his new tablemate used the term red to describe the situation.

Isaac just shrugged, oblivious of the boy’s glare, “Yeah, red, like all over your hands and hair when you first looked at me.” Before Damian asked even further questions, he suddenly turned around to face the Wayne heir, as he calls himself. Isaac’s body was facing him, but he still didn’t look at him in the eye, instead tilting his head to the side to signify that he was listening to Damian’s move. He continued when he understood that Damian was staying dead silent on purpose, just to throw him off and make him forget about his initial question, “Right now, red is draped around your eyes and your mouth, and you’re just fucking with me.”

Before Damian could ask him the how and why Isaac could see something like colours around people, the new one just flat turned back on his chair and focused on the teacher, whispering a quick “Anyway, nice chat. I have to concentrate on the course because I don’t want to fall any further behind in Economics. Cool to meet you, Damian, even if I don’t know your last name.” And forgetting in a matter of seconds Damian’s existence.

The Wayne was left fuming, the deepest scowl on his face anybody in the school had ever seen, trying to untangle all the information Isaac let slip and trying also to cover his bruised ego at the other boy’s capacity to ignore him successfully, even when he was glaring holes in the back of his skull.  

First, rude. And second, how in the world can you NOT know me, you baboon? Did you live in a jar for the last 40 years to not know the Waynes?! We are worldly famous for Father’s shenanigans as Brucie (and the ones from his family, but let’s not dwell upon that). Isaac did not lie when he said that he did not know them, they were no signs of it. No muscles contraction, no dilated pupils, nothing. He was truly ignorant.

Even more perplexed, Damian resumed his doodling from before and began to chew on the mystery Isaac was beginning to become. The guy came from nowhere, was seeing colours in places that didn’t exist in this reality realm, had the behaviour of an animal in order to prevent any unfortunate dismemberment and finally was rude. That smelled trouble, in capital letters. Damian observed Isaac closely, and by the way he was crouched on his chair and listening to the teacher, he seemed like he couldn’t hurt a fly. But appearance could be really deceiving, so Damian decided to keep an eye on the new walking mystery for the sake of his sanity and to push away his boredom. He didn’t trust Isaac to not bring some crazy ass monsters straight from Allah knows where. Maybe it was his paranoia speaking, but anything new meant more than he liked something bad coming, and he wasn’t about to take any chances.

Economy class went without any incidents, but Isaac sent Damian a few glances in Philosophy class every time the teacher -this teacher got on Damian’s nerves more than others because of this attitude of considering that his words equalled God’s word and therefore should not be questioned- spewed some bullshit about artists being prostitutes, selling themselves through their artwork and desperately trying to lure people and get their attention, or started yelling at some students because they didn’t highlight in the right colour. And to be honest, his mood only worsened when he discovered that Isaac had decided to sit next to him for every class they had together, much to their classmates’ surprise (they expected –and for some of them, hoped- for a public execution at the second the economy class was over)

During lunch, he observed from afar, and could analyse the interactions Isaac had with some other students. He was clearly guarded around them, talking gladly with them, offering a smile, but anytime someone new approached or one made a grand gesture, he was immediately wary and tensed. He stared at every person when they were talking, clearly assessing their threat level, but avoided eye contact at any cost. He refused to look at them when talking to them, preferring to turn an ear to them or the discussion- much like he did with Damian at their first meeting-.

Surprisingly, even with bullies that only made contact to get a taste of a potential victim, he relaxed after a few seconds of interaction and didn’t pull the same stunt he did with Damian. Unsurprisingly enough, the behaviour of his classmates changed when the discussion came to colours he was seeing around people. Some of them were clearly uncomfortable, thinking that this poor dude had not all mugs on the shelf, as he showed them where the colour should be. But none of them asked what the position of the colour meant, and Isaac never offered an explanation.

School life and rules obliged, because Isaac was a bit out of the box as normal, and because of his apparition during the middle of the year, all added with his behaviour, he was quickly labelled freak, like Damian – though not with the mention dangerous, can dislocate a shoulder without blinking- and was left mostly alone. People came to talk to him about work he had to catch up with or just small talk, but beyond exchanging names or homework, everybody stayed away from him. Something set them off about Isaac. Meanwhile Damian ignored him in class, even when Isaac tried to talk to him about uninteresting matters, but watched him from afar during lunch, PE, basically every time he could, and took notes of anything weird on a villainous level.

But quickly, it became not enough. Damian’ paranoia was leaving him awake at night, wondering if this new boy was the calm before the storm, ready to shred them to pieces. He had to pierce this mystery, or he would end up with grey hair before his puberty.

The best strategy became clear: he would put Isaac under constant surveillance, at school and at home. He hacked the school servers to retrieve an address, learning Isaac’s last name: Menourem. There was no mention of any parents of any kind in Isaac’s file, just a sister, Elilian. He broke in during school hours, knowing that nobody would be there, Isaac’s sister working from 7am to 8pm every day and Isaac himself being at school. He bugged the whole apartment, placing cameras in every room – not forgetting the bathroom, even if he didn’t want to have the image of Isaac taking a shit on his camera feed-  and designed his patrol route so that he would pass on the rooftop in front of Isaac’s bedroom. He would then watch Isaac and his sister have a complete normal life.

His brothers picked up on his change of route and Father confronted him about it, but he quickly dismissed his worries, saying that he had saved someone during patrol and they had asked to keep an eye on them, scared that whatever monster attacked them would come back if Robin wasn’t there. And him being the white knight on the mighty horse that he was immediately agreed. He got teased for it, but it was better than having his brothers snoop around and have at the end to explain himself to them when they would see that he was stalking the perfect little civil Isaac was.

Himself thought that way too, but just to be sure, he stalked him even harder, going to the extent of mapping his whole movements, following him to his dance courses and taekwondo training for the whole week. The only one in the loop was Alfred, who merely arched an eyebrow when he got a call from Damian asking to be picked up near the sports club, in the pouring rain, to only respond that he was already on his way.

Pennyworth knew all along. Is he sentient? I know Father tested him for any mutant genes, but his deductive abilities are humanly impossible. He nearly resembles Sherlock Holmes, without the annoying doctor at his side.  

Disappointed that nothing crispy was going on, but reassured that it meant nothing dangerous would be dumped on them, he continued his nightly surveillance for about a week just to be sure, and ignored him at school.

But Isaac didn’t hear it that way. School went on his nerves, aggravated by the change of scenery and all of the new people, making fun him while his back was turned. So when he saw Damian not even casting a glance in his direction when he greeted him at the beginning of Philosophy class on Monday, he snapped. Slumping in his chair, he took out his notebook, angry, trying to reign his temper before he would explode. Damian, being the fine detective that he was, frowned at his tensed shoulders and the anger radiating from his persona, even with his breath controlled. Normally, everything should be fine, Isaac didn’t see his sister in the morning, because she normally left for work early as always but they shared a civil meal the evening before, Damian knew, because he was watching over them. Maybe in the bus, he was run over by an old lady and her rollator. The fifth Robin was perplex, but he didn’t really care if Isaac was angry, if it only meant that he would leave him alone.

The class began, the teacher spewing nonsense as always. Isaac waited for the teacher to start a rant about the Oedipus complex, and how much we are fucked up in our heads because we were part of a love triangle early in our lives, before turning partially to Damian and whisper-scream “Are you bloody bipolar?!”

Damian blinked, not really understanding why Isaac’s anger was directed at him and enjoying the slip in the most British accent he ever heard, aside from Pennyworth’s. Surely he left the new one alone, so why should he be angry? Avoiding as always eye contact, Isaac got the confirmation that Damian was not going to talk when the Wayne tapped his pen on his paper, and continued, getting even angrier, “I told you that I wasn’t a threat and that I wasn’t here to do you harm, so, here comes my question… WHY?!”

“-Tt- What are you talking about? I left you alo-”

“No, you didn’t! Watching me from afar in school, noting every strange behaviour – which, by the way, must be hard, because my face is next the definition of strange in the dictionary- is not leaving me alone. But school I understand, you want to have every bits of information about your new classmate. Won’t blame you for paranoia, in this city. What I don’t really understand is stalking me. Like, really?!! Following me home? Lurking on a rooftop, watching me in my bedroom like a bloody weirdo?!?!”

“Again, what are you talking about? Is that a new technique to try and get my attention? If it is, then take a ticket and wait in the line. I have other things to do then paying attention to an extra.”

“Really, Wayne? We’re going down this road? Okay, then how do you explain the boy I saw Wednesday evening, just in front of my window, with the same height, same body mass – I saw you jump in sports class and the sound of the landing was the same, so proof- and same shoe size than you? Hell, I can just do a DNA test on the hair I found when I went to check I wasn’t hallucinating. What will the results be? A 100% match maybe?!”

From annoyed, Damian went to deadly in matter of seconds. In a blink, his knife was drawn – which slipped Grayson’s thorough search and patting this morning, thank you very much- and the sharp end went to Isaac’s thumb and sliced. Blood pearled and Isaac withdrew his hand, hissing, more surprised by the location – he thought that Damian would’ve gone for the throat and ask question later- than in pain. Standing up, the Wayne boy took him by the arm and forcefully hauled him up, managing to get everybody’s attention. Turning to the teacher without letting go of his arm, he declared in a flat tone, “He cut himself on the edge of the table. I’ll show him the infirmary, because I don’t think anyone already has.”, and looking at Isaac, “Now come, you fool, I don’t want to have your DNA on my papers.”

Isaac snorted and murmured, “Like you don’t have some on your knife to test it...”

They exited the classroom together, with everybody’s eyebrow shooting up to their hairlines. They walked a few meters and left the main hallway, turning left to the administrator section, which was less frequented.

As soon as they disappeared in the hallway, Damian slammed Isaac against the wall, putting the knife against his throat. “What. Are. You. Talking. About.”, he hissed, blocking Isaac’s airways for a brief moment, to make him understand the precarious situation he was currently in. Isaac merely relaxed and sarcastically quirked an eyebrow, looking away from Damian’s face as soon as the fifth Robin came too close for comfort, “What am I talking about? Oh, I don’t know, how about you sweeping through my flat, putting bugs and cameras in every corner, invading my privacy and my sister’s?! See, when I spotted you, I wasn’t so sure, but honestly, Robin doesn’t just do surveillance from a window. He bugs you, inspect all your accounts, learns everything about your life. I’m also talking about you wearing a bloody neon costume, lurking at my window, watching ME! I would’ve been flattered if I wasn’t so pissed that I had to abstain from jerking off for two whole weeks!”

Damian must’ve made a face, because Isaac sighed and whispered, “TMI?”

The knife was pressing even harder, threatening once again Isaac’s blood vessels, and restricting his movements so, that if he tried to move, he would end up with the imprint of the blade in his flesh, making a smile like scar on his Adam’s apple. “How.”, was the only word he was able to get out of his gritted teeth, already hearing the shame and anger in Father’s voice when he would announce that he got busted by a classmate he stalked. Mother was screaming in his head to kill him and let the body be a feast for the fishes of Gotham City. Isaac’s stance relaxed even further, going as far as wrap his hands around Damian’s wrist to show them and leaning more comfortably against the wall. “Dude, you said you don’t kill. But I know for a fact that you did before- Robin is infamous like that-, so why not pull out the knife before anybody sees us. I am way too angry at you to hug you in order to hide this wonderfully made slicing object.”

“I am seriously reconsidering my no killing rule, so do not test my patience with witty banter. Answer. How?”

Isaac only smiled, a confident smile, “I can see your battle with your blood lust. Not killing is harder than you thought, but right now, red is not around your eyes, so you’re not losing your shit. Yeay, win. So you won’t kill me – or anyone for that matter- today. Applause.”

Again with the Red, Damian was lost. Isaac had seen perfectly what had happened in his mind and pinpointed that out with the use of a colour. The fifth Robin was getting suspicious that the colours had something to do with his revealed identity, even though it seemed clearly unbelievable. During his search in the Merounem’s apartment, he didn’t find any sign of magic or suspicious furniture, - Isaac’s sister only having weird taste in decoration-  which lead him to think that Isaac was indeed crazy. Clearly, he was wrong.

Seeing that Damian had no intention of moving any time soon, Isaac shrugged and tightened his grip on Damian’s wrist and pushed the knife a tiny bit away from his throat and tilted his head, eyeing the floor thoughtfully. He then looked at the ceiling, “I know. Follow me and I’ll explain how I knew it was you beneath the hoodie. And then you can take out all the bugs and cameras you put in our flat, before we go completely Ghostbusters and fry them.”

Damian was not trusting him, but after everything Isaac had said and done to signify that he wasn’t a threat, nor willing to be taken as one in the future, he decided that he was smart and trained enough to handle any unexpected situation. Pocketing his knife, he motioned for the new boy to lead the way, glaring at him for good measure. Much to his surprise, they exited the school by signing themselves out, using the skiing excuse for Damian and a cold for Isaac, and hit the streets. The walk went on without any sound from each other, Damian growing more and more curious and wary at Isaac, who was seemingly perfectly fine with leaving him in the dark. As they walked nearby a bakery, Damian finally recognised the neighbourhood – he took this route when following Isaac home, the first time he got out. - Knowing now where they were heading, Damian was only left wondering why. But when Isaac opened the door to his apartment, the truth slapped him in the face like Barbara did when he accidently tripped a wire and sent the nest on lockdown.

Colours. They were colours everywhere. The first time he came in, he didn’t pay attention to all the nuances on the walls and around the furniture, to busy searching for information. But now that he was invited, he could look up and take in all the undertones of beiges and whites of the living room and the ceiling, how the black of the piano on the corner and all smoky colours of the other instruments lying in different corners of the room brought out the sofa and the table near the kitchen area. It was like a wool sweater with a collared neck and décolleté that succeeded to underline elegantly the breasts of the wearer and her figure, giving it a respectable atmosphere and kind of homey. There were plants everywhere, with flowers popping out, in different colours and shapes. Damian, as an artist, was slapping himself for not seeing it the first time he came here. But it was understandable, because he came here as Robin in the skin of Damian, and not as the artist that popped in whenever he was safe and alone in his room, free to draw whatever he wanted.

Isaac laughed and Damian realised that he had been staring. Adverting his eyes as soon as the Wayne boy set his own on him, Isaac motioned with his hand to follow him further into the place. Picking up his jaw left on the floor, Damian followed him into his room, to be awestruck for a second time – bitch slapping himself for the second time today -. Like the living room, Isaac’s bedroom was all about nuances and glimpses of warm and cold colours in unexpected places. Brown and green were dominant, with the bed and the wooden table in warm brown, and the sheets and the three stripes on the wall to be a pine green, with blue pooping up on the walls with photos and some purple picking out from his underwear drawer. The room was lit up by the dull sun from Gotham, blocked by all of the pollution, and gave a peaceful atmosphere when Isaac stood in the middle. He looked surreal, and Damian only wanted to sit down and draw him, to capture this moment out of time, purely human and truly beautiful.

The moment was broken as Isaac reached out for his chair. Damian had it preciously stashed in his memory to try to recreate it later. But the moment turned from beauty to pure confusion as he watched Isaac frantically beginning to search through his desk drawers, pulling out papers and papers filled with crap – doodles of the philosophy professor, one of what he did not want to believe was a caricature of him with snots running down his nose- before coming to a sketchbook that wasn’t there when Damian searched the room. Pulling it out, Isaac sat down on the floor and looked up to Damian, only to advert his eyes when he met his. “I think you’re beginning to understand, but I’ll give you the final proof that will maybe the last nail to my coffin if you decide that I’m a threat and make me disappear form the face of Mother Earth. Without killing me, sure.” He then reached out his hand holding his sketchbook and gave it to Damian, who opened it, perplex of why Isaac was giving him his clearly most precious belonging, giving himself bare to the scrutiny of Damian’s mind.

Curious and more excited than he would admit, Damian opened it and refrained his desires to let his jaw fall to the floor –for the third time today, seriously honey, could it stop?!-  and to bolt at Isaac to kill him. In the sketchbook were drawings of him. Not just him as Damian, but also him as Robin. On the first page were two drawing, looking almost like pictures: His face as Damian, looking bored, probably drawn from a memory of History class, and his face as Robin, hood down and domino mask on. The shades and contours lines were put in the same places and the two drawing, minus the domino, looked identical. But the interesting part was the colour on it. His faces were done with a pencil, and the shades too. But droplets of colour were on it. As a civil, red was around his mouth and eyes, while as a vigilante, red was around his hair and ears. Red.

“You said you saw red the first time we met.”  

“Yeah, and it was around your hair and ears, like something bad was whispering to you, or just anger was showing through.”

“This is how you found out?”

“Pretty much, yeah. Thing is, those places are general for all people. If someone’s angry, then it’ll show like it showed on you, same places. But what gave it away was the colour. Everybody has a unique colour and that’s how I recognised you, Damian Wayne, as Robin. You were going all weirdo under my window, and if it wasn’t for the colour, I wouldn’t have spotted you. It’s pretty weird to recognise your table neighbour as one of the famous thigh clad vigilante, lurking in the dark like the roof top is your playground. Every colour has its nuances, and for you I used #eb1523, but around your stomach there’s another nuance, duller and sombre, almost like #70060d.” Damian took a short breath at the mention of his stomach, but Isaac continued, undaunted, “The colour of blood. That’s weird, ‘cause I’ve never seen something like this before.”

So it meant that Isaac was a mutant. No doubt. An a dangerous one for that matter.

“You’re a meta.” His voice was cold, weighing if yes or no he should tell Father about new metas roaming Gotham. One that could bust out his identity by one look.

Isaac tilted his head on the right side and smiled, “Naaa, not it this sense. When you recognise someone on the streets, I recognise a colour. Same difference, our brains are just not made the same. I’m no mutant with a radar, I just associate things differently than you do. But I don’t know why I see two colours on you. Maybe someone who left an impact on you… I dunno. ”

Isaac seemed content with his explication, and did not look curious as why another colour was lingering on his body. His stomach. The pain flared as he remembered his death by the hand of his mother, obscuring his vision. It had been the worst moment of his life (pun intended).

What had really pushed him metaphorically on his knees was the realisation that he wouldn’t be able to help Father anymore. That he wouldn’t be there to ensure that Father would not kill, him and Todd taking that decision for him, taking out some villains permanently in order to keep their father’s sanity. If Father lost his moral compass, then they were all doomed, because once you tasted blood, there was no coming back, not really. Todd understood now why Batman couldn’t kill, but it didn’t mean that they couldn’t kill for him. Grayson turned a blind eye and sometimes Tim provided the targets.

But knowing that they would have to continue without him, that he wouldn’t be there anymore, it had struck him. That he wouldn’t be there to enjoy the company of Alfred, with some Earl Grey and Pennyworth on his lap, purring. That he wouldn’t be able to put his fist in the face of the goons they fought every night. That he wouldn’t see Father smile at Superman and Wonder Woman like they were the most precious thing he ever had the chance to hold. Like Jason looked at Dick whenever he thought that no one was looking. Selfishly, he thought that he was too young to die, had too many things he had now the right to explore to be run through by a katana.

Coming back to reality when a hand waved in front of him, he snapped his eyes back at Isaac, who was wearing a concerned face. “What?” he spat, clearly not over the fact that a civilian had discovered his identity and was now concerned.

“You okay? I have the feeling you went in a bad place of your memories, ‘cause the red on your stomach started to spread.”

Oh right. Colours. Seriously, it was starting to get kind of annoying. Those colours were like an emotional state detector and it was unnerving to know that a stranger could read all his emotions by just looking at the colour on his body. Scowling, he sighed, “I am well, no need to dump your worries on me.”

Isaac just snorted, disbelieving. An awkward silence settled, the two boys not knowing what to say anymore. Everything had blown off, they had nothing more to discuss. Damian wanted to go back home to figure his next move about Isaac – maybe locking him away to make sure that he wasn’t about to hand him to the cops, or someone worse for that matter- and take a nap before patrol. Standing up, Isaac handed him his hand to help him up and turned at his face him for the first time of the day, eyes glued on a point over Damian’s head. “You know what? I think you’ll want to keep an eye on me, secret identity yada yada, so why not be friends? That way you can drop the creepy act and I’ll have a conversation partner in school. Win-win situation.”

Damian wanted to laugh at his face. Him, a friend? Had Isaac really gone insane for him to ask that? And also, he hadn’t ignored him for a while to now become friends with him. That would absolutely be counterproductive. But seeing Isaac stare nervously in the space them, he doubted his judgement for the first time today.

That was way too simple. Or maybe not, Kent had done the same and they were now on ‘friendly’ terms. But the situations were different. Kent was an alien with superpowers that fought alongside him, while Isaac was a stranger that busted his identity in no time with some weird brain powers. It smelled trouble, and Damian wasn’t sure this would be a good idea. But he had come a long way from the antisocial brat he once was, being rude, seeing friends as a liability more than a strength and he had to admit, Isaac was getting more and more interesting. So if this contract allowed Damian to keep his surveillance without getting caught, then he would maybe give it a shot.  “-Tt- Alright, your idea merits considering. But keep your bragging to a minimum or it won’t be viable anymore.”, he said, standing up on his own, refusing Isaac’s hand, who let it drop at his side with a slight frown.

“You are so weird, Damian.”, muttered Isaac so quietly that Damian didn’t pick it up. He then went in front of him to lead him out of his room, shouting at him before exiting for the bathroom, drowning him in a flow of question before locking the door. “You like hyperrealism? Oh and there’s coffee under the counter. Put it in the coffee maker and start it, I think I need a cup to celebrate our newly sealed friendship. Surely you want one as well, don’t you Wayne? Do you even know how to make coffe?”

Damian almost smiled at the absurdity of it all. Almost.

Boom, there ya go. Second chapter. find me on Ao3 under Neverask, or with the name of this story. 

Do not reupload to another site without my consent. If you do, I will find you and I will send Wade after your ass. He’s very fond of the spider I’m bringing to the team.

[mobius-prime]

121. Knuckles the Echidna #22

Dark Alliance (Part One of Three): You Say You Want a Revolution…

Writer: Ken Penders Pencils: Jim Valentino Colors: Barry Grossman

So fair warning - this arc is very politics-heavy. I've already criticized the inclusion of politidrama plotlines in the comic before, despite my own personal interest in them, so I won't go over it again. What I will go over is that this arc also includes quite a few tasteless references to the Nazi regime of World War II, starting with the intro page. See, every issue in this arc begins with, rather than the traditional intro page that recaps past events and introduces plot points to come, instead a speech or quote relevant to the current story. This one is a parody, if you will (though played completely straight) of the "First They Came" poem by the German pastor Martin Niemöller, referring to how many people stayed silent while the Nazis oppressed and enacted genocide upon groups that those in silence didn't belong to. In this altered version, "Anonymous" claims that Robotnik came for hedgehogs, squirrels, rabbits, and foxes first, during which the speaker stayed silent as they were an echidna and didn't want to get involved, and so by the time he came for the echidnas there was no one left to speak up for them. Of course, quite aside from the fact that this is completely disrespectful to the real-world situation that the actual poem describes, that's not even how the Robotnik coup went down. Robotnik, upon dethroning King Acorn, pretty clearly just started roboticizing all Mobians indiscriminately without regard to their individual species. Not only that, but he didn't even get a chance to start on the echidnas, as all of them were either contained in their pocket universe on the Floating Island, or hanging out in Albion, which it appears Robotnik never even knew existed. I don't know, the whole thing is clearly an attempt to seem really intellectual and deep on Penders' part, but it just comes off as insensitive instead.

Anyway, onto the actual story. We open in the house of High Councilor Pravda, who appears to be the main political leader of the city. In the dead of night, Pravda is awakened by a window smashing downstairs, and angrily stomps down to confront the intruder, believing it to be "dingo trash up to no good." Instead, he is dragged out of his house roughly by several Dark Legionnaires, while the leader, called Kommissar (her title, not her name), admonishes him for his apparent hypocrisy regarding his anti-technology stance.

Well, she seems lovely! As she has her people drag him away, we pan to Haven, where Knuckles is demanding answers from his grandfathers on his father's whereabouts. To his credit, Sabre is genuinely apologetic to Knuckles, believing that they should have been a lot more forthcoming with him a lot sooner, but Knuckles really isn't having it, and can you blame him?

As a side note, this is about the point in the comic where the eyes of characters such as Knuckles and Tails, formerly depicted as black pupils as in the classic games, start to gain some color. We already saw it with Tails a little while back during the Sand-Blasters two-parter, and it's very inconsistent between issues (for example, you'll notice his eyes are blue instead of purple up there), but you'll start to notice it in screenshots from here out before their designs finally stabilize to their modern forms, similar to their designs from the games.

While Knuckles continues to demand to see his father, we ourselves see Locke, who is dropping off Remington, Julie-Su, Lara-Le and Wynmacher back in Echidnaopolis. Remington asks him how things went with Lara-Le again, and Locke acts like he's all regretful that he couldn't woo Lara-Le back to him or something, which like, really man? You're divorced and haven't spoken properly in years, and she has a new fiancé now, did you really expect to just manage to sweep her off her feet again and get remarried? Julie-Su tries to approach Locke to thank him for saving the whole group, and finds herself recognizing his appearance somewhat. Upon asking, she's shocked to find out that he's Knuckles' father, and asks him about Knuckles' whereabouts. Remington ushers her away before they get a chance to speak further, probably to protect Locke's privacy, and as he jokes with her that it seems like she actually cares about Knuckles, Locke muses to himself that his son is likely furious with him, which, yeah, not far off there buddy. He has an idea of where his son might have gone, and as he speeds off in his air vehicle, we jump over to the Kommissar, who has by now dragged her captive all the way back to the Dark Legion's current hideout… and oh boy, inside we get to see a familiar f- …uhh… okay, well, I won't call him a familiar face, because we've never seen him looking quite this messed up before, but it's Dimitri, okay? It's Dimitri back on his BS.

Guess he had to have some, uh, extensive reconstructive surgery after his rather literal fall from grace. And unfortunately for everybody who doesn't want to be ruled over by a cyborg'd up monstrosity of a dictator, he's got a new takeover plan in mind for the city!

Back in the more civilized areas of Echidnaopolis, Remington is having his driver take Wynmacher and Lara-Le back to their apartment when they find the streets blocked by a protest from dingoes, agitating about their lack of housing and accommodations within the city. Remington tries to resolve the situation peacefully by requesting that if they must protest, to at least let traffic pass while they do, but at that moment a giant flaming fireball comes out of nowhere and starts wrecking the place, and the whole thing devolves into a big brawl between the protesting dingoes and the watching echidnas.

Remington calls Haven for backup, and while I'm not sure who exactly in that nest of grandpas he expected to go rushing out of there for something as simple as a protest gone wrong, luckily for him he mentions Lara-Le over the comm, and Knuckles immediately enlists Archimedes' help to poof him out there to help his mom. Meanwhile, we get to see that Locke has completely, thoroughly misjudged where Knuckles would be hanging out at this moment, having thought for whatever reason that he would be brooding inside the Chaos Chamber next to Mammoth Mogul's ugly frozen mug.

Now this is some well-appreciated character development from Locke. I've been heavily criticizing him this entire time for how he's handled his interaction, or lack thereof, with his son, and I'm glad to see that Lara-Le's admonishments seem to have gotten through to him. While he won't get a chance to catch up with his son right at the moment, at least we know the big talk isn't that far off in the future.

Knuckles and Archimedes poof into the fray on the streets, and Knuckles begins throwing punches at whoever gets close enough, which as everyone knows is the single best way to end a violent brawl - by participating! Despite being an echidna himself, he doesn't hesitate to throw punches at other echidnas in the bunch, with Archy adding some of his own fire breath into the mix. If anything, I'd say he accurately judged the situation, which is that the dingoes were peacefully demonstrating and it appears to have been an angry, racist echidna who threw the first molotov. General Von Stryker makes his entrance, and despite him predictably acting aggressive and blaming echidnakind in general for the dingoes' treatment, Knuckles actually agrees with him that the echidnas are being really crappy, and offers a truce so they can discuss what went wrong and how to resolve it. Meanwhile, back in hell - I mean, the Legion's hideout…

This is probably the single most disturbing page in the comic so far, if you ask me. This guy is begging, screaming, for mercy and they put him under like nothing's wrong and start doing surgery without his consent (obviously) on his brain. Dimitri, watching the proceedings, starts mwahaha'ing to himself about the whole affair, as apparently Pravda is the direct descendant of Menthor, the councilman who denied his and Edmund's proposal to use the Chaos Syphon all those centuries ago. He's determined not to get careless with his power again in the future, and now that he's defeated death by old age through the sheer power of adding more and more cybernetics to his failing frame every time something goes wrong, he's ready to get his long-due revenge.

In another part of the city, Knuckles and Archimedes poof right into the middle of the Chaotix, who are pleased to finally see him and hopefully get a chance to catch up. As he explains what was going on with the protest, Julie-Su arrives and gives him the "why" he was looking for, which is that, naturally, Pravda was kind of a racist ass and wasn't working very hard to ensure the dingoes would have housing built for them in a timely manner. However, elections for the position of High Councilor are coming up in a few days, and Pravda has ever-so-mysteriously been missing since the previous night, with his traumatized wife too messed up to be able to talk about what she saw. She slyly mentions when questioned that "a little birdie" gave her all this information, leading Vector to rather rudely blame her for "having friends in low places" and generally acting as distrustful of her as ever. Seriously, Vector's been kind of a jerk to her ever since she left the Legion, and you just know that situation is gonna come to a head sooner or later. But enough of them - let's head back to the Kommissar, who's having her people reenact Kristallnacht in the streets of Echidnaopolis! (Told you this arc is full of tasteless references to WWII…)

She reports in to Dimitri, who is pleased to hear about her progress on the senseless property damage and random citizens she's beating up for no reason. Like, the regime seems cacklingly evil enough to want to do this kind of stuff, sure, until you hear Dimitri's actual plan for takeover this time - he's implanted control chips into Pravda's brain, and is going to use him as a mouthpiece for the Legion's ideals in the upcoming election!

So, wait. You want to get your new mind-slave to cast your organization in a positive light, and at the same time you're having one of your main commanders go around smashing windows and beating people up in alleys? How is this master plan of yours supposed to work, exactly? That entire Kristallnacht page could be removed from the comic and not only would it not impact the story, it would make it make more sense than it currently does. I seriously think that it was only included to draw more parallels to the Nazi regime, because there's just no way it makes any real sense otherwise. Sigh, Penders. Why do you have to be like this?

[trashforhockeyguys]

Can't Help But Love You -1- Kasperi Kapanen

A/N: Hey it’s the Kappy Miniseries I promised! Basically just thank @thiccthighsandhockeyguys for not letting me forget to write this. 

Your heart seemed to stop the second you saw two blonde boys walking towards the baggage claim. One of them laughed and lightly pushed the other. You almost wanted to cry at the sight of the both of them. After a whole summer of barely speaking to either one, you were more than ready to escape to your lake house with them and some of the other guys.

 It wasn’t until William elbowed Kasperi and pointed in your direction, that Kappy finally saw you. Even from a distance, you could see the smile stretch across his face as he handed William his bag and practically started running towards you.

 You did this every summer, and every summer your heart hurt more and more.

 “Kap,” Your voice wobbled as he wrapped his arms around you. He cradled your head, holding it close to his chest. You clutched onto him, the summer without him hadn’t seemed so bad until now. Because now you remembered what it was like to have him with you again.

 He smelled the same. Like fresh cotton and pine, among other things that you could never quite place. But it was all Kappy, and somehow over the course of the last few years, he started to smell like home.

 “I guess I don’t get any love,” William jokingly sighed.

 You and Kappy quickly broke apart, realizing that the two of you had already started to cross the boundaries you tried to set every year. Every year you both swore you wouldn’t make the same mistakes, that things would be different. But you were never able to resist one another. No matter how hard you tried.

 “Hey Will,” You sighed happily as you hugged him.

 “To the lake?” Willy asked you.

 “That’s the plan. Some of the guys are already there,” You replied putting your arms around both their shoulders, “This is going to be a Lake Week to remember.”

 It took the three of you a few hours to drive out to your lake house, not including stops for food. By the time you got there, Auston had already started a fire in the fire pit out back. Zach had apparently taken it upon himself to start grilling for everyone, although Mitch was standing over his shoulder telling him he was doing it all wrong.

 You told Willy and Kappy to go drop their stuff off in their rooms before coming out back with everyone else. It took an hour for all of you to calm down and gather around the fire pit. Each of you had already had your fair share of the beer. You leaned into Kappy and laughed as Mitch finished his attempt at a joke. All of you knew if you were sober no one would be laughing at it, but Mitch didn’t need to know that.

 “Oh c’mon! You’re supposed to laugh like you mean it!” Mitch complained, “It was funny! Right Matts?”

 Auston only shook his head and clapped Mitch on the shoulder, “Sure Mitchy.”

 “But-” Mitch stammered, “It was funny. I’m funny.”

 “C’mon Mitchy, there’s ice cream in the fridge,” You told him, “That’ll make you feel better.”

 You watched as he sulked off inside, mumbling about how he was funny the entire way. Kappy pulled you closer to him, leaving little to no room in between the two of you. It already warm out, despite the fact that the sun had gone down hours before. But you were practically burning now.

 You’d both promised you wouldn’t cross any lines this year, but not even twelve hours in and the lines were already starting to blur. You cleared your throat and pushed yourself away from him. All attention was brought back to you as you stood up.

 “Where are you going?” Kappy pouted.

 “To get another beer,” You told him, combing his hair out of his face.

 The way he smiled at you only helped to further blur the lines. The way he almost pulled you into his lap when you came back didn’t help. Or his breath on your neck, and the way his body shook when he laughed.

 All you could do was try to fight it, try and break the yearly cycle. However, you already knew that your resolve wasn’t that strong. There always came a point in the year, no matter how hard you tried, when you couldn’t say no to him anymore.

 William eyed you, raising his eyebrows once you made eye contact. Willy knew that you were already failing. He knew that you’d cave the second Kappy was back with you. Even if you swore to William at the end of last season that you wouldn’t go down this path again. But you said the same thing every single year.

 “What’s the plan for the week?” Auston asked.

 “Whatever you want,” You shrugged, “The water’s still fairly warm. There’s some fishing poles in the boat house, and I can take you guys out on the boat if you want.”

 “So we can’t drive it?” Kappy asked you, leaning back to see your face.

 “You almost wrecked it last time, Kap,” You reminded him, “I’m under strict instructions to not let any of you behind the wheel of my father’s prized possession.”

Kappy’s hand, which had been on one of your knees, slowly started to move up your leg before stopping at your thigh. You felt your heart speed up as you reached for your beer. You needed to distract yourself from him. You knew you did. But at the same time, you didn’t want to leave him. You were too comfortable in his arms.

 You, against your better judgement, leaned into him and rested your head on his chest. The hand that wasn’t on your thigh moved to rest on the small of your back. There was something about all of this that just made you feel like you were home, and you wanted to hate it. You didn’t want to feel anything more for him, you two were just meant to be friends. You didn’t want to be that girl.

 Yet, here you were.

 Every year, you and Kappy swore that you weren’t going to start this again. You weren’t going to act like you were in a relationship, or try to be in one. Not when it always ended the same way. Because you always broke up when summer hit and he went back to Finland. It was like clockwork.

 So, every summer you wouldn’t talk, you both claimed it was to give each other a break. But you both knew it was because you didn’t know how to talk, when just a few days or weeks prior you’d been everything but friends.

 It was stupid. You loved each other, in ways that neither one of you was willing to admit, but not enough to try and really fight for one another. Yet, you couldn’t break the cycle, because you liked being with him.

 “You’ll be at the games this year, right Y/N?” Zach asked you.

 “If I missed them Kappy might kill me,” You laughed.

 Kappy laughed. You could feel his whole body shake against yours. His arms tightened around you as you felt his lips graze your neck, and then the shell of your ear. Your heart sped up and you found yourself feeling flushed again.

 Dangerous territory indeed.

 It took you another hour to decide to go to bed. But even longer to finally pull yourself away from Kappy and go upstairs. Mitch informed you, as you were walking in, that Steph was coming up in the morning. Which meant you’d have another girl around for a while.

 You glanced out of your window, towards the fire pit. Kappy had since vanished, and it appeared like one of the guys had thrown a few more logs in.  You smiled at the group of boys you liked to call your other family.

You’d closed all of your blinds and changed by the time he knocked on your door. He didn’t even wait for you to reply before carefully slipping in. He’d changed into sweats and a warn Marlies shirt. The lazy smile he gave you was enough for you to lose the ability to say no to him.

 You sighed and jerked your chin towards the bed, before pulling back the covers. You didn’t look back as you climbed into bed, because he was already getting in beside you. He didn’t waste any time before he pulled you to him and tucked your head under his chin.

 “I missed this,” Kappy mumbled into your hair, “I missed us.”

 You twisted in his arms so you could face him. He was looking at you differently. He’d never really looked at you that way before. You wrapped your arms tightly around him and buried your head in his chest.

 “I missed you too,” You whispered once his breathing had slowed and you were sure he was asleep,” Too much.”

You couldn’t sleep though, not with him beside you. It was like your brain wouldn;t shut off. You just going over how this was a bad idea. 

It was early morning when you heard the pots and pans banging in the kitchen. You weren’t entirely sure who’d decided to cook, but you had a feeling that you probably needed to go supervise so they didn’t burn down your house.

 You carefully pried yourself out of Kappy’s arms and pulled the covers back over him. His hair was sprawled all over the pillow, and he seemed to be trying to reach for you in his sleep.  Your heart almost ached at the sight, it was almost enough for you to crawl back into bed.

 But a few minutes later you were walking down into the kitchen to see Steph ordering Mitch to get something out of the fridge.

 “Oh thank god, it’s you,” You breathed a sigh of relief, “I thought one of them was trying to cook.”

 She smiled and walked over to you, “I wouldn’t let that happen.”

 “Can she help you, now that she’s down here?” Mitch questioned.

 “Get out of my kitchen Mitchell,” You laughed.

 He didn’t have to be told twice. He walked over to kiss Steph once before practically fleeing. You and Steph made small talk as you continued to make breakfast for everyone. All of the boys were still asleep, aside from Mitch who was now watching TV in the small living room.

 You were in the middle of scrambling eggs when Steph leaned against the counter to the left of you. You glanced over at her briefly before looking back at the stove. You could tell that she was waiting to ask you something, or talk to you about something.

“Alright,” You sighed, dishing out the rest of the eggs onto a few different plates, “Out with it.”

 “How are you doing? With Kappy back and all?” She questioned quickly.

 You shrugged, “I’m fine. I’ve missed having one of my best friends around.”

 “Oh, come on, you and I both know he’s more than just your best friend,” She stated.

 You sighed and looked around, making sure none of the other guys had come down, and that Mitch couldn’t hear you. You turned the stove off and turned to look at her.

 “We’re just friends,” You replied softly, “We agreed on that three years ago.”

 “And you swore you weren’t going to do this with him again,” She pointed out.

 “And I had planned not to, but then he was here and I,” You shook your head, 

“And I have no self-control. I can’t say no to him.”

 You knew the look she was giving you. She’d given it to you so many times already. Half the team had given you the same look. They all knew how toxic yours and Kappy’s relationship was becoming.

 You and Kappy had been friends for years after a chance meeting while on a family vacation. When you were fifteen you somehow managed to convince your parents to let you go to Helsinki over the summer, so you could spend time with Kappy.  

 However, the two of you didn’t as close as you were, until he was traded to Toronto. Then, while living in the same city, you two realized a lot of things. Some of those things, you wished you hadn’t learned.

 “We really need to work on that,” She told you, “I love you, and I love him, but you’re just hurting yourself over and over again.”

 “I know but I just-”

 “Hey Steph, glad you got here okay,” Kappy said walking into the kitchen.

 His hair was still slightly messy from sleep, but he’d changed his clothes. Board shorts now hung low on his hips, with a towel tossed across his shoulder. Your finger nails dug into the palms of your hands as you clenched them.

 “Good morning,” He, in an utterly surprising move, kissed your cheek, “I’m going for a swim, care to join me?”

 There was that look in his eyes again. The look that you couldn’t quite decipher and it made you nervous. You didn’t know what he was trying to convey, and in your position, you felt as if that were almost dangerous.

 That feeling in your stomach was back. Were you going to cross another line, or would you stay there and keep your distance? Your heart was hammering. He didn’t kiss you, unless he was drunk and clingy. You couldn’t quite figure any of it out.

 “I need to finish making breakfast before everyone else wakes up,” You told him hoarsely, “And then I need to clean up the kitchen.”

 The lazy smile that had graced his face disappeared, being replaced with a look of disappointment, “Well, you know where to find me if you change your mind. Call me when it’s ready, but I won’t take long.”

 You were still stunned as he walked away. This time it had been him crossing lines. Not even a day into everything, and you were already struggling to keep your promise to yourself.

 “You are fucked,” Steph pointed out.

 “I know.”

 “That isn’t the look someone gets when they’re just friends with that,” She said gesturing to you and then out to where Kappy was still walking towards the water.

 She was right, as much as you hated her for it. You turned away from the window and took a deep breath before carrying the pan you’d been using to the sink. You needed a plan, some way to put some distance between you and Kappy.  Not much, but just enough so that you could think clearly.

 “Mitch!” You called, “Go wake up the rest of the guys, breakfast is ready.”

 “But Kappy just left,” Mitch leaned awkwardly into the doorway of the kitchen.

 “I know,” You replied dryly, “He said to eat without him.”

 “Liar,” Steph joked once Mitch could be heard running upstairs.

 You shook your head and grabbed plates from the cupboard, “It’s fine. He’s swimming, remember? I’ll make sure the guys save him some.”

 “You’re planning on avoiding him now, aren’t you?”

 “I’m not planning on anything,” You lied again, “Other than spending time with you guys before the season starts again.”

 You did plan on doing just that, however you left out the part about not falling in love with Kasperi all over again.

[flyswhumpcenter]

Bad Things Happen Bingo! The event where you send me requests according to this marvelous card! (Red cross is the completed prompt, character headshots are prompts I’ve already filled. Green deltas are for requested prompts.)

The schemer got schemed.

5K words. 5 fucking thousands words on some overly edgy Inazuma fic. I guess that's the power of self-indulgent writing lmao I'm sorry for how purple prose-y this reads. I don't know what it is about me this September that makes me want to write abstract stuff. And why was it so weird to write dialogue for this? I wasn't writing this awkwardly on purpose I s w e a r About the fic itself, it's mostly Orion-compliant, aside from a couple details and me deciding the match against France should have happened. The idea made more sense in my head before I started actually writing it, but oh well. I'm more impressed by how much I've written for this than anything else, tbh. I hope you still like it! I really want to write more Inazuma, so this was still a blast to write, even if the last part is... kind of weird? I didn't think I'd take this direction, but I didn't want it to end on a depressing note. Inazuma wouldn't, so why should I? This is already way too edgy for its own good, better balance things out. I also may have forgotten they're supposed to be fourteen or something, but it's easy to forgot with the alt continuity honestly. It may also be fairly OOC, but it depends on how you see the characters, I suppose. In all cases, I have a lot of fun writing these three in particular, so you can expect more of them to come one of these days.

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Two Birds in One Stone

Summary: For once, Nosaka didn't quite guess what was ahead of and coming for him. Now, if he had been the only one affected by his fight against Orion... Then it'd have been much better than that, most certainly so.

Fandom: Inazuma Eleven: Orion no Kokuin Relationships: Platonic Ichihoshi & Nosaka, Nishikage & Nosaka

Wordcount: 5.5K words

Event hosted by @badthingshappenbingo

AO3 version available here.

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The biggest traps are the stealthiest, Nosaka learned against his will during the worldwide tournament.

 It’s a stupid lesson to learn this late, way too late, in fact. It’s like observing a bird dying in his hands and realizing this wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t caused its death by accidentally crashing into it. Death he’s very nearly avoided causing recently, but even that detail doesn’t help relieve him. It was obvious, yet he didn’t take it as seriously as he should have, brushing it off as no bark and no bite…

He wishes he had gotten bitten instead, right as he stands in front of a door in a corridor, alone, half sunk in the darkness. His hands are bloodied, he doesn’t want to see them.

 The events keep repeating in a loop, tinted with bitter regret and a desperate wish to redo everything again. He’s not used to the awful taste of failure and near-defeat: even if they’ve won in the end, it wasn’t thanks to him, quite the opposite way around. If Ichihoshi hadn’t been there at the right time and properly equipped –and that thought sends chills down his spine— who knows would have happened to him and Japan’s team next.

It’s not like he can do anything about it now, since time is a treacherous one-way road, but it doesn’t prevent his mind from looping around the question over and over again. After all this time spent scheming, spent elaborating complex plans and betting on the near-impossible, he’s finding himself stuck in one place, contemplating failure and decisions he could and should have taken.

But it’s easy to just regret and mop around, licking one’s wounds like an injured animal: fixing one’s mess is much harder than people make it out to be.

 It started with the least subtle trap anyone from Orion could have laid before him: a message written in Cyrillic, all in Russian, as if trying to stir some primal fear he found himself missing. He wasn’t scared of Russia or their team, Perfect Spark was terrific as a team but they were no actual criminals. As such, he merely asked Ichihoshi to translate it for him, which the latter did with ease: as he had guessed, living and playing in Russia for a while had made Ichihoshi bilingual. He had to have talked with Froy Girikanan in one language anyway.

Ichihoshi didn’t seem very thrilled about the meaning of the piece of paper, eyebrows frowning and sweat pearling down his temples. The more he read, the worse his expression got, to a point where Nosaka was starting to wonder how bad these few words could have been. Cyrillic couldn’t have expressed in so few characters such violence that a former Orion agent would have been horrified about it.

 “N-Nosaka,” he asked him with a hesitating voice, “where does this come from?”

“It was slipped under my door,” he replied with the least worry in the world. “I suspect it to be no more than an ill-tasted joke. It’s too easy.”

“I guess, but… This sounds very serious. We know the Orion Foundation has enough funds and means to do this to us.”

“Do what? I’m afraid you haven’t told me about the meaning of this message yet, Ichihoshi.”

“R-right…” He seemed more than reluctant to read it. “It’s more or less telling you to stop investigating into Orion’s business if you don’t want everyone around you to suffer the consequences. It also states it won’t hesitate to employ great means to reach that goal and that you should better off surrender to them right now. And… well… The rest is tasteless, to say the least…”

“Tasteless?”

“I… I’m not sure if I want to read out all of this, it’s a gruesome list of what they’d do to us…”

“I see,” Nosaka didn’t, really, but there was no way Ichihoshi would be able to withstand translating that for him. “Thank you for this anyway. I’m still convinced this is but a bluff, so you shouldn’t worry over it.”

“Got it…”

 And he seemed to be right, for a couple days. The training sessions went perfectly smoothly, the match against France unfolded correctly (having to face not a single Orion player felt refreshing, for once). The team was growing and improving, welcoming Seishuu’s Mizukamiya in its ranks soon enough. More bickering amongst players, more discussions shared around a plate of dinner at the cafeteria, more scheming on his part against Orion. It was all fine, all so fine, and it’d obviously eventually resolve things in the long run.

He should have seen it coming, frankly, in retrospect. He should have sensed it was all too good, coming from the snake that was Orion, slithering in the dark with dagger-sharp fangs waiting for the opportunity to strike.

 The first real weird instance that happened was already fitting of Ichihoshi’s intimidated stance when reading a simple piece of paper. People sometimes missing dinner had never been much of a weird thing: they’d show up later and grab a plate of what would be left, once they’d have been finished with whatever they were doing. It wasn’t like there wasn’t a microwave oven to heat up food that’d have gone cold since then.

Still, he had mentally noted down who was always showing up for dinner at the same hour, nagged by the message despite his best judgement. Some were fairly obvious: Iwato, Asuto, Umihara, (in fact, most of Raimon’s members) they’d never fail showing up at the time dinner started. Technically, Nishikage and he were part of them, mostly due to the message having gone around (and it was obvious that he’d tell his right-hand about that, wasn’t it?). One of the few other people who’d have never failed showing up early was also Ichihoshi, ever since his identities merged together.

 As such, it was no less than odd for the latter not to show up when dinner was announced, on one day, soon before the match against Brazil. He was miffed about this fact, sure, but there was a possible rational explanation for it, so he didn’t insist against himself: if Ichihoshi was late, it may have been because he was researching information on the team they were going to go against soon and had forgotten to check the time it was, most likely too engulfed in searches to do so.

Yet, there was something off enough about this to make him almost bite his thumbnail. A few minutes to arrive late was all fine and not suspicious, but seeing everyone but someone who was always on-time show up, eat and leave was starting to make him worry. The message kept coming back to him, no matter how many times he forced himself to push it back into the depths of his mind, until it was almost unbearable and Nishikage himself made notice of how tense he had become throughout the evening.

 In the end, they were the last to leave the cafeteria, and he decided to go search for Ichihoshi. It was weird that this boy had still not shown up in the cafeteria.

 Their footsteps resonated in the corridors as he viciously searched for a familiar tuff of blue hair, for anything that’d give him an idea of where his aide had gone. His room was empty, no shared room had any trace of him in it and anyone he asked about their comrade’s whereabouts met him with confusion, worry or simply no information to give. No amounts of “Sorry, I’ve not seen him tonight yet, I’ll make sure to tell you if I see him” would give him an idea of where to head next, but at least, that was confirming this was indeed suspicious and not just his mind rendered unable to rationalize little things.

Seeing a trail of blood made his go cold, though. Before he realized it, he had started running in the corridors, forgetting everything around him, until the zigzagging lines stopped in a darker corner of the establishment and he was faced with what must have been matching the lines Ichihoshi hadn’t dared saying in out-loud Japanese.

Not that his unconscious body would have been able to do so either.

 Nosaka wasn’t that used to the sight of blood, this much he was discovering when coming across this disaster of a vision, a nauseating stench of iron immediately reaching his head and making it spin for a moment. In a sharp reflex, almost forgetting he wasn’t alone in this mess, he ordered Nishikage to call for help in a hurry and kneeled next to the body drenched in red, still liquid enough to taint his hands as he tried to make sure his comrade wasn’t dead, observing the surroundings as he searched for a pulse and exhaled a sight of relief when feeling one.

It was a sinister sighting he got forced to face. Sinking in the night’s darkness, barely lit by the emergency alarms, the faraway lights of nearby corridors and the stars and moon by the window, was Ichihoshi, hands covered in his own blood, a stainless exacto knife discarded nearby and a flare of murder to it all. This was gratuitous and needlessly violent, and his eye couldn’t help but spot in the darkness a paper with Cyrillic written on it.

It wasn’t a mere coincidence.

 By a miracle, they didn’t lose Ichihoshi that night, saved in extremis by a blood transfusion and a few stitches. He was clearly not in a playing condition from the incident, yet his recovery was announcing itself to be a quick one: he had actually not lost that much in the corridor. More scare than harm, he supposed.

That was a relief Nosaka didn’t dare make obvious to the outside of his mind.

 It was ashamed and shameful that he presented himself in front of a hospital door on the day after. He insisted on being alone, leaving Nishikage behind (who could wait for him or just do his own thing, he wouldn’t have minded either way), and entering the room with heavy footsteps and even heavier thoughts swirling in his mind. In his pocket, one of the reasons he was there. One of the reasons he was ashamed of being here too.

He had inspected every corner of the hospital corridors he had walked through to get there, just in case. He had also learnt some Cyrillic before coming, but that wasn’t to transcribe anything: it was only so he wouldn’t get a room number wrong. He couldn’t risk asking a receptionist, so better do that by himself and not risk anyone’s life in the process again. One endangered comrade was far than enough for a trickster resorting to cryptic messages. A trickster that made him feel unsafe enough for everyone around him and himself that he couldn’t even ensure himself of anyone’s safety anymore.

 Scheming against someone he knew the face and modus operandi of was easy. It had always been easier to point holes in a known person’s plans and means than some unknown mask smirking upon them with contempt. He couldn’t come up with an actual rebuttal with how little information: even the handwriting wouldn’t get them anywhere. The cleanliness of the knife found at the scene indicated this person had more than likely gotten rid of any DNA possible, hiding their track like a meticulous mind.

For the first time, Nosaka felt unable to do anything real against a situation he should have been able to do something in. It was a wit’s match, after all: there was no reason for him to be this paralyzed by difficulty when he had always been capable of winning his previous chess matches. Suddenly, he tasted powerlessness and it made him go restless. Not even kicking a ball was emptying his mind of the worry.

 When he eventually pushed the handle of the door and entered the room, he was surprisingly greeted by a smiling Ichihoshi, his skin barely paler than usual, waving at him slowly and gently. He didn’t quite know why he couldn’t find any resentment in his teammate’s eyes or demeanour but brushed that side for the moment being: there had to be an explanation and he could just wait for it. Patience was key in a situation where he wasn’t in control. For now, that was: after all, being patient and resisting the assault would provide him with an opportunity eventually, wouldn’t it?

He sat next to Ichihoshi, studying in rapid glances his condition from he could see. An intravenous injection in the left wrist, a bag of blood; another in the forearm, of something else, either painkillers or antibiotics, maybe nutriments. No way to tell for sure, so he skipped to the next element. Bandages on the chest, from what he could see: made sense. He couldn’t see any other limb, but neither arm bore anything that wasn’t clothing, so—

 “Ah,” Ichihoshi suddenly spoke up, “I got told it was just a deep scratch. I wasn’t stabbed or anything.”

Wait, had he just somehow read his thoughts?

“I see. I’m glad it wasn’t as grievous as we thought it was. Speaking of which, how are you feeling?”

“I’m fine! Well, fine enough for someone who got attacked like that, but it’s not entirely unexpected, coming from Orion… Sorry for worrying you all like this. I’ll be fine soon, at least.”

“Will you be back for the next match?”

“I’m afraid not, but I’ll be there for the one against Italy, I promise.”

A smile. Too bad he’d have to crush it.

 “Say, Ichihoshi”, he asked, “I know this is of bad taste and comes with bad timing, but could you translate something for me?”

The smile disappeared as soon as it appeared.

“The word left next to me, right? That’s the last thing I remember before passing out.”

“Exactly.”

 As soon as he put it out of his pocket, left almost intact, Ichihoshi picked the paper in his hands and read through it, expression only slightly more relaxed than the first time around. His hands trembled, almost folding the paper under their press, until they untensed and their discussion resumed.

“This is but the beginning, for I’ll hit two birds with one stone. What’s odd is that it’s written in older Russian…”

“And the first wasn’t?”

“Not as far as I remember, at least… I wonder what they’re trying to mean with this. I don’t think it’s anything positive, though.”

“I doubt their intentions are any better than what’s happened to you anyway. It’s certain that you were the first ‘bird’, but who could be the second?”

“It has to be you, right, Nosaka?”

He paused for a minute to think about it. It only made sense for an Orion agent to get rid of their enemy’s commander, right? He had the flare of the Emperor of Tactics shining all around him in this tournament. He had to be the second target mentioned by the sombre message. There was no other way around, right?

“I suppose you’re right, Ichihoshi. Let’s be careful from then on.”

“Agreed.”

 The day Ichihoshi got discharged from the hospital was, coincidentally, the day Japan went against Brazil in the FFI. As he had expected, there was Orion meddling threaded through the entire faceoff: acupuncture tactics against Mizukamiya choosing to pretend like they’d be doing the same. It all ended with Japan’s victory, a freed Brazilian team, and an injured right hand. Nothing quite out of the ordinary, even if the messages kept popping in his head, and his eye always glanced back at Ichihoshi sitting on the bench, as if it made him feel safer about it all.

Which was a mistake, but on the pitch, he couldn’t have focused on that. There was a match to play and much bigger stakes hanging over the grass, other people to free from the enemy’s clutches, a tactic to pay attention to. At least, he still had his talent for acting to his service, as to seal the deal and sell the lie. The victory absolutely mattered, as it had always done since the beginning of the tournament.

 The blinding optimism of Inazuma Japan’s players almost intoxicated him into sharing their appeased mindset, almost made him forget about the poisonous fangs here to eat him alive in two vicious bites. Two birds, one stone. The vague wording of it still reminded him of nothing precise, but he still told Nishikage about it, brainstorming as they usually did, yet nothing came of it. Talk about running out of inspiration.

Both papers used were nothing but ordinary: white lined paper, standard printing paper that was then cut. Almost a bland modus operandi: it wasn’t original, but it was effective as not to be traced. Contacting the authorities came to his mind, but he quickly realized that’d end up putting all of them in danger in the long run. They never knew how brutal Orion could get on them. Oh, they had never known, in the end.

 The following days untensed his shoulders and brought back some of his sleep. The lack of anything serious happening combined with the training for the match against Italy had taken most of his awake thoughts, trying to piece together a strategy to adopt before it even started, helped by Ichihoshi and his analyses. It was nothing out of the ordinary for them, quite frankly, as this had become their routine, yet something still felt off. The, perhaps baseless, threats still swung over his head like Damocles’ sword.

That was his main mistake there: being unable to tell precisely where the sword was going to fall.

 A mistake he realized far too late, as it only came to his mind when discussing Italy’s team with Nishikage and Ichihoshi before the afternoon training session. It had been a casual conversation until the point where the latter wanted to check the paper again, thinking of something new for the investigation.

“What do you have in mind?” Nosaka asked as he put it out of his pocket and gave it away.

“I’m wondering who the second bird is again… We were sure it’d you, but nothing’s happened yet, and I wonder if it’s not because you’re always with someone else. I got attacked when I was alone.”

“That’s true. I suppose they’re only armed and prepared as to assault people when they can’t be spotted doing so.”

“Considering Orion’s influence and power,” Ichihoshi then pointed out a detail, pensive stance and eyes shining in a new light, “it’d be weird for them to be this careful. They could easily manipulate the situation to their advantage. I also still don’t understand why I wasn’t brought back to Orion either, if their motivation was to neutralize the people going against them. You’d think a traitor would have been a prime target to get rid of, but they left me to bleed out instead…”

“You’re rising a good point. I don’t think our enemy is actually siding with Orion. They seem more like opportunists profiting off from our conflict with the foundation.” He needed a third perspective on this, certain to have finally made a breakthrough in this blind investigation, so he turned to his usual aide. “What do you think of this, Nishi…”

 There was no one to meet his eyes.

“Nishikage was called by Sekiya.” Ichihoshi couldn’t hide the amusement in his reaction. “I’m surprised you didn’t notice him leaving!”

It was weird for him not to notice someone leaving his side, but it wasn’t like it wasn’t planned. He did remember something about a check-up. And it wasn’t like Nishikage couldn’t defend himself, so even if he was alone, he’d be…

“Wait, Ichihoshi.”

Something was wrong.

“You were attacked inside our centre, right?”

“I…” A struggle to remember. “I was. Why?”

Nosaka suddenly rose from his chair, almost punching the table they were sitting around while he was at it.

“His hand! How could have I forgotten about his hand?!”

He left in a hurry, forgetting to drag a half-confused Ichihoshi with him on a chase against time. That was what had sounded so wrong with this entire ordeal…!

 His thoughts were racing inside his head. He was a fool: the second bird had never been him. If they had wanted to get rid of the enemy, they’d have gotten to him first, wouldn’t have bothered leaving their former mole to die, as if giving him a chance to survive the attack. The cryptic Cyrillic had been a lie all along: someone wasn’t out for the team, he was out for him, and he had been a fool to believe otherwise. How in the hell had he taken so long to realize about what Ichihoshi had pointed out?

It was revenge by proxy. Someone was out for him and was using the worst means possible to reach their goals. A cold-blooded revenge whose devilish devise had to have made them be quiet about it, scared of the power of the Orion Foundation when it had never been implicated in the entire thing to begin with. That had been a lie and he had been too focused on something else to notice everything crashing down around him, just because the ceiling hadn’t started sweating dust above his head…!

 Yet, Nosaka’s blood almost ran cold when he saw, in a different corner of their living quarters, his closest ally being put a knifepoint by the person who had most likely already attempted killing Ichihoshi.

The crimson peeking through the bandages on his right hand was all he needed to get furious at the other man and himself alike.

 “No…” A strangled scream, stopped by the slash of a blade.

The unknown man barked some words in a language he didn’t understand, most likely Russian, while putting his available hand on his prey’s mouth. What was going on was absolutely cryptic, undecipherable to him: he lacked the linguistics to understand, he was finding out. Somehow, he had attracted the hatred of a man whom he didn’t even share a language with.

 Obviously, that meant there was no hope with talking with him: his words would never reach him, even on the most literary level of the saying. All there was to it now was trying to act against a situation where he was put at an obvious disadvantage. Not quite an easy feat to accomplish, would he say so himself, especially when trapped in such a catastrophe.

There was no air for a misplay on his part, so he analysed the situation. He was himself unarmed, couldn’t speak Russian, but was the object of the conspiracy. On the other side of a narrow corridor, a corner almost hidden away, Nishikage held at knifepoint and already bleeding and a man who didn’t speak a word of Japanese, armed with just this one knife he was using, face hidden by a mask. Calling for backup or leaving to get some would possibly result in Nishikage dying while he’d be gone or in front of his eyes. Yet, the lack of backup was an issue on both sides, so it was almost equal on that front. He only needed a hostage of his, a human shield to use, he supposed.

 “Nosaka!!”

The echo of Ichihoshi’s voice made him turn around in a bolt, panic settling in for a moment. If the man ever heard someone else coming their way…

“Don’t,” he almost said, before hearing a muffled yelp coming from his side. Turned around, saw his friend bleeding from the chest, and didn’t need anything else.

 Ichihoshi reached him in mere moments, breathless, a ball in his hands. Anxiety could be read all over his face, splattered on his eyes and brows, breath shaking. As soon as he came into the field of vision, the man started barking again, shooting his words like a machine gun, an aura of threat to them.

“A-ah…” Ichihoshi started mumbling, expression worsening.

“You understand what he’s saying, don’t you?” Nosaka asked, still in a hurry, putting all hopes on a comrade’s abilities.

“Y-yeah… It’s kinda hard to translate because he speaks so violently and so quickly, but he’s saying that you’ve ruined his life by interfering with Orion’s plans…” He gulped, hands trembling. “He’s also saying you’re next… We need to stop him as soon as possible!”

“Agreed,” he replied with his head turning back to the lone renegade. “Do you have a plan?”

“I…” Another gulp. “I don’t!”

He was getting impatient with all of this.

“Fine.”

 Noticing a little space between the blade and the throat it threatened to slash, Nosaka picked the ball from Ichihoshi’s arms and calculated an angle as quickly as possible. He had only a couple seconds, if not frames, to have it hit as perfectly as possible, lives being on the line more than previously. Yet, he lacked the time to think about it, so he kicked the ball and hoped for the shoot to do as hoped.

A smirk drew itself on his face when the knife was launched away from the vicious hand, flying in the air, as the hostage freed himself and the blade fell back to the floor, clinking against the tiles. Not leaving the time to the man to react properly, he rushed to the latter, putting his foot as firmly as possible over the guilty wrist. If his intent wasn’t to directly cause pain, there was still a desire in him to do so festering inside his chest.

“Ichihoshi, go get some help, please,” he ordered as calmly as possible, even if the flame was becoming a fire by the moment.

“C-coming!”

 Events after that passed by in a flash. Cries from his teammates, grunts from the assailant, panic, phone calls, sirens. The dopamine rush he had had when tackling the culprit had disappeared as soon as it had come, leaving him to just observe things from a distant point of view, trying to keep himself under control.

He walked mechanically out of the situation, rummaging through a sea of boggled thoughts. Coming after him was one thing: he expected it. Ichihoshi had been tasked with neutralizing him by Orion until fairly recently. However, coming after people close to him to get to him had nothing on that. While one could have argued Ichihoshi had always been a risk for being a former disciple of Orion, it couldn’t justify coming after Nishikage, who had merely been as much of an adversary of Orion as everyone else. Someone made personal what had always been a conflict of collectives and, to that, he may have wanted to punch a wall.

 The door opens right next to him, reminding him to break away from his thoughts. It’s only been a couple hours at most since this entire disaster unfolded, and even then, he’s trying to convince himself it’s been longer than that. Well, even the best of lies won’t work in this situation, so he shakes his head and faces his captain, with whom he’s just had a talk.

Truth be told, Endou had never been the type to hold a grudge against a teammate, even when they had almost committed a crime. It wasn’t that Nosaka had been surprised to be immediately forgiven right after he had finished explaining everything with rage still trembling inside his throat, as it was but the opposite way around: he was more so astonished by Endou not sharing his point of view on the situation. In fact, faced with the anger of a captain whom hadn’t been informed about the message or neither of Ichihoshi or his theories on the matter, he had almost run out of words, yet defended his position anyway.

 Endou’s opinions made sense, he has to admit. The smile and soft tap on his shoulder much less.

“He’s asked for you,” he tells him, a thumb pointing at the door frame. “You should speak to him yourself. See you later!”

On that, Endou takes his leave, leaving his secondary captain alone in the middle of a echoing corridor and a door that just has to have conveyed their conversation on the other side of the room.

 Left with no choice, Nosaka takes a deep breath and enters. There is a galaxy of somewhat similar events where he wasn’t scared by having to confront Nishikage. Not even the tumour intimidated him into being unsure of the outcome of the conversation. However, all previous certitudes are now lying on the floor, because this isn’t the same as before: the situation has changed, his responsibilities too. Mind racing to process through the memories, trying not to succumb to anxiety, he makes his way in.

The discussion about that tumour keeps nagging at him, but he quickly busts out what allows it to do so. Put into perspective, it only affected him: even if he had betrayed Nishikage’s trust by hiding that away from him like he had hid it away from the world until that point, it had never affected Nishikage himself. This, however, is a different situation: should have he guessed not to have been the second bird, this would have never happened. Injustice has always made his blood boil, from the day he was conscious enough to understand the concept, and knowing he’s partially responsible for it this time around makes him want to go back in time and defy the odds to do so.

Instead, he’s just faced with the fatality of facing his own misplays in this messed-up chess game.

 He doesn’t sit on the chair he can guess to still be warm. He only feels like staying up, so he doesn’t have to prevent his eyes from noticing every detail that bothers him. Still, he’s a diplomat of sorts, a representative of Japan to the rest of the world and the captain whenever Endou isn’t on the field. He should be able to talk to a teammate, especially one as close as this one.

“I’ll admit I don’t know what you expect from me,” he starts, unsure himself of what he’s supposed to do right now, scoffing at himself with an excuse for a laugh. “I don’t know what to say, or rather, how to say it.”

Silence on the other side of the line. He doesn’t look up to see what this translates into visually.

“I should have been more careful than that. I blindly assumed I’d be next and forgot they could get to you instead. You were only collateral damage in all this. For that, I’m deeply sorry. It shouldn’t have been this way.”

 He crosses his arms and tries not to sulk. It’d be a dumb thing to do on his part. He’s guilty as charged, doesn’t deserve to be the pitied one. Not that either of them would appreciate pity of all feelings. He believes what he’s feeling is sympathy and not dirty pity, perhaps closer to empathy, but in the end, it’s all words and nuances for nothing. Overthinking what to call something won’t fix the things he’s allowed breaking.

 “Nosaka.”

The calm tone in Nishikage’s voice almost makes him jump, eyes now on his teammate. To his surprise, he gets greeted by what he thinks is a smile.

“What is it?” He gathers himself in time for a reply.

“It’s fine.”

Short and straight to the point. As expected, coming from Nishikage. Still, the sentiment behind it is more perplexing.

“You… do mean it, don’t you?”

“Of course.”

 Nosaka feels a smile coming to his face, inexorable.

“Well then. You don’t mind having been attacked because you were my aide?”

“No.”

There’s just something so much more convincing to a dry, single word, than any long speech he could be given.

“Hearing you say this gives me relief. I’ll be more careful next time so that doesn’t happen again. This was already one time too many.”

“Don’t beat yourself over this, Nosaka. It’s fine. I understand.”

“…Thank you. In fact, thank you for always being there.”

“That’s nothing.”

 Silence rises up again and he goes to finally sit on the chair, whose gone cold. The air isn’t as heavy anymore, yet they don’t exchange words: they’re silent and content in being so, it seems, and he doesn’t have the words to break through it. There is nothing to be added anyway: they’ve made their cases, their points and, in the end, he gets to postpone guilting over all this sometime later, when he’ll have a clearer mind. When the heat of the moment will have passed, when the optimism of the team will intoxicate him again and he’ll have his wounds patched up by the sun.

He likes the calm between two storms much more than as he thought he would until now.

[inexchangeforyoursoul]

FINALLY birthed this thing. I’m officially a disaster with writing anything that involves conflict. Just like irl. :”) Anyway, yeah, there were 3 reasons why I did not finish this immediately about a month ago.

Első: See above.

Második: I had no idea what I wanted the last drop for Hawks to be before writing the rest in advance anyway, whoopsie~

Harmadik: I was.... reeeeeally not sure whether I want to publish this during pride month, seeing as I’m cis, and what kind of shit I put in this. (..... ok I’ve been thinking about this, and somebody just tell me if I’m plain projecting shit here. I might as well. Like, I always am, but it has usually got to do with characters being heavily #relatable in some way in strictly canon, which goes for everyone I write scenarios for. But now I’m thinking about whether there is something more to this, bc me headcanoning Shiggy as genderfluid and starting that shitty LawxOC body swap fic came around the same time two years ago, and now here’s Hawks, too. I’m onto you, me. I’m so onto me...)

Anyway... if you want the usual fluff, you might wanna sit this one out. (There’s some of it, but beware of everything else... it got p long (~6.5k), too, so you might wanna read it on a proper platform for txt: AO3 )

Big, BIG thanks @cutiesableye @acidmatze @waxwingedhawks and @mistystarshine for basically proofreading it and slapping a big green GO into my nervous face. Or being at it rn; regardless, I am thankful. Sssh, only dreams now.

I hope y’all be as uncomfortable reading the meat of this as I was writing it, whoops.

For how much he's surrounded by people normally -which he enjoys most of the time, really- Hawks prefers the silent rooftop right now. It shouldn't be anything out of the ordinary, he'd need a lot more alone time in the first place… but he's supposed to be working right now. Be in the thick of this spying shit, collecting intel from social and environmental clues like nobody's business.

Returning to the room is not something he wants right now, though. The topic and the awkward atmosphere it brought are weighing on him, and he'd rather get over this before moving on with the sleuthing business. He's been perching over the weed-ridden parking lot for like half an hour already, though. Judging by what he can pick up, the League is back to their time killing activities, and not very concerned about his absence. He noticed Spinner checking on him some time back from the doorway, and that's what it was. He's low-key grateful that they would let him breathe instead of poking around some more, or tailing him. If it's something he's allowed to do all the time, it'll be a luxury he's plain going to cherish for as long as it lasts.

Another plus is… that his reasons to join have become more than just believable. Even if this bit of information was not something he wanted to share. Like, at all. Ever. It was perhaps naive to think nobody will ever find out in the first place, that it would stay a secret of the select few who trained and took care of him. But the ones aware of it now being the members of Japan's most infamous terrorist organization… is not reassuring. 

Still… they are letting him be alone. It's… nice. Being seen as a person. It also hurts, though.

His feathers catch onto the vibrations of someone coming up the staircase again. The echoes tell of familiar size, weight and shapes… he knows who it will be. Being a wild card, he's probably coming on his own volition. The plastic smile is already in place, even though it has never worked on the guy- this was nice while it lasted.

The metal door opens with a lazy creak, then there's a soft thud, followed by slacking steps that stop right behind him. Dabi takes a swig from the beer can in his hand before speaking. "So… Peacock and Starling, huh."

"What about them, bacon face?" It's a funny feeling to hear someone say those… names, technically. It's equally funny to think that one of those is what he'd be known as if things go a little more his way. Even considered the title Phoenix for a moment, but that was too pretentious even for him, not to mention ill-fitting past being made of reds and yellows. As for the flashy Peacock… it's easy to see why the blatant joke got rejected off the bat. He'd look sick in iridescent blues and greens for sure, but that's all the reason he ever had to consider it. Those colors didn’t fit his basically pre-established brand… and nowadays he'd rather be invisible than catch even more eyes, anyway. And there's the almost, almost final Red Starling, which had the prototype of his current hero costume and everything…

He wanted to avoid predatory birds when given the task to choose a hero name, blatant secondary traits notwithstanding. They were beautiful creatures, yes… but hardly something reassuring and safe, killing for a living, full of pointy bits. Someone else probably wouldn't have batted an eye and had gone for the intimidation factor, but it was simply not what he had in mind.

A hawk… is a borderline case. It's among the smaller species and underwent some form of domestication, after all. They are not ideal for being kept as mere pets, though; they serve a purpose, instead.

They are used.

Used to hunt for sport or pest control, as he usually does. As he's supposed to right now.

So 'Hawks' was an afterthought, invoking the image of speed and danger. Which they insisted on, especially after… that. Smuggling the S at the end on the form was a last passive-aggressive jab after getting the okay, before letting go of who he used to, or wanted to be. It was fascinating to see the big shots make peace with it almost immediately, and regarding it as an improvement, even; 'makes it easier to associate with a swarm of feathers,' and 'more unique and identifiable,' they said. As if the original idea didn't accomplish both. It really was just… fascinating. The rest of these names, he banished to the stuffiest, darkest corners of his mind, as there were few good things, and even less pleasant memories attached to them. Until… today.

What has happened was simple and logical- the idea whether he'd choose another alias for underground activities came up. Mentioning them in the first place was an enormous mistake… and entertaining either as a viable option was even more so. Disturbing those relics reminded him of those buried memories and feelings, and all he can think of right now is the way Himiko's words rang in his ears barely half an hour ago.

Today, your smell reminds me of Big Sister.

Dabi lets out a sigh before getting to the meat of it. He spent the time Hawks had been gone on thinking himself, and there's a lot to unpack here. So he ought to take it step by step, lest he gets lost in the details. “Let me… get this story of yours straight."

… Great. This is exactly what he needs.

"It starts with… dirty, piss-poor little you getting caught up in a car accident and single handedly resolving it, right? Then, for doing something nice and selfless like that… you got sold off like a slab of fucking meat to the government.”

He blinks. "Hmm… not the most revolutionary take on it. I know you can do better." Claiming that the thought has never crossed his mind would be a lie. He just never let himself dwell on it. But now, this idiot is making him do exactly that. Or is trying to, at the very least. It certainly seems to be one of those convos. This… is turning out to be a major pain in the ass right away. Maybe he should reconsider provoking him this time around, it could backfire big time in the current mood of his.

“It is what happened, though, wasn’t it?” Dabi continues, slipping down to sit next to him, one leg dangling over the edge. “And once your apparently sub-par parents raked in the easy money, and washed their hands of you… you got stripped of everything.”

"Bold of you to assume that I had much to lose, bro. If you know about the accident, you also know where they picked me up from." Putting up a front aside, there was a rough edge to that 'everything' that makes Hawks want to run for the hills immediately. Nope, he is positively not in the mood for antagonistic banter at the moment. He wasn't really able to hide his upset and embarrassment over the situation, so Dabi must have found some twisted sense of enjoyment in pestering him about this specifically. Why can't this asshole just… shut up for once. He thought the villain incapable of it, but he does it so damn well with others around. Sticking with the lot might be a good idea, because solo Dabi is worse. He… he better filter out all the babbling before he starts thinking about bad shit or worse. It’s been a while since he had to take such measures, but he'll have to lull himself into a coma, and just… shut up. Inside out. And hope that Dabi gets bored of him.

“Doesn't change the point, does it, now. They started with any meaningful human contact you may have had… until they erased every last ounce of self," Comes the continuation while Hawks tries to block it out; "They denied you time, likes, attention, possibly even your basic fucking needs while moulding you into a perfect little cleanup machine that fears no death. Then tossed your dried-up skeleton into a roomy cage, filled with expensive junk to fill the void, as a semblance of compensation. Well thanks for fucking nothing, you sick fucks."

Hawks' eyes have locked onto a sunbathing lizard in the distance, but the idle animal is not quite enough of a distraction and his fingers twitch with the tightening grip over the wall's edge. Why does it sound as if Dabi was taking his side?

Shut up… don't pay attention.

He winces when Dabi pulls on the collar of his tracksuit to take a disgusted look at the label. "All the shit you wear was gifted from companies you played dress-up doll for, wasn't it… one fantastic billboard, you are. You own literally nothing else, do you? I'm sure that's the case, because, funny story… a newbie classmate of mine, some dump kid whose parents became new money, had always obscene amounts of cash on him…  but after an initial shopping spree, he never could bring himself to buy a fucking thing. So we asked him about it. Turns out he simply felt like utter shit for spending any of it unless he had a good reason. I laughed then, but apparently, getting a bag of chips is a gargantuan issue for most people who grew up in poverty." 

He leans closer, low words dripping like liquid venom in Hawks' ear. "You, too, feel like garbage every time you spend an ounce of money on something you can do without, don't you? Reminding yourself that there are dozens of that thing at home, lying untouched in your wardrobe that's the size of some families' entire house. Pray-tell Hawks, how many times did you sit over a full basket of online goods… the stuff of your dreams, probably some basic ass shit... only to back out at the last second, hmm?"

Shut up.

Dabi's eyes slide to the tense hands possibly attempting to tear the crumbling edge off the worn wall. A second later, he distances himself again, stirring the can with lazy, circular motions. "I don't even want to imagine what it feels like. Never spent a fucking dime on anything but charities, I fancy. And the odd bottle of booze, fuck or junk food… Are those chicken bits the only thing you're allowed to get? Tch.” 

“What a fucking luxury, being allowed to treat yourself to a bucket every other week, when your disgusting training diet has been set in stone three months in advance." It sounds like a personal addendum, but not a single word in that sentence escapes the overbearing sarcasm and condescension.

A still ticking cogwheel in the hero's head wonders why Dabi knows of the standard diet thing he has to undergo at least twice a year being three months long, and how he could possibly know that he's come to hate half of the dishes over the years. The overwhelming majority of said cogs have long come to a halt, however, screeching SHUT UP. He's not sure who or what that message is directed to anymore. Probably both of them.

Dabi’s waltzing wrist comes to a halt, soon followed by the whirling liquid in the can; it's a minute break, the kind that's just enough to make conversations awkward. In fact, the silence is too big for Hawks to handle- there’s no white noise to drown out and it makes not thinking, not paying attention unbearably hard. The lizard disappears under the cracked asphalt, leaving him with nothing.

“With how long it took you to respond to Shigaraki, they also stripped you of your name. And what I got from the exchange with Toga… is that the same goes for your body, too.”

A shiver runs down Hawks’ back and wings over the addition, kicking the machine brain back in full order despite his best efforts. Dabi takes a big swig of beer and lets out a sigh, resulting in another ill-placed pause. It gives Hawks time to think, goddammit, and he thinks too fast, too hard, about everything.

“While you were moping up here, I've come to realize why you always seem to be so hilariously desperate to one-up me in any given way… it’s because you actually are grasping for straws. You have no control whatsoever, over anything. None." There’s a somber undertone to his voice. The can, along with the remaining sloshes of beer, are flung down to the concrete wasteland and land with a sad, high pitched clank. "My sister used to be like this… people like you don’t dare to ask why things happen. You will believe you’d done something wrong to deserve it all… maybe see yourselves as a necessary sacrifice. Did they ask you to be a martyr, or did you decide so yourself, bird brain? Not that it matters… because that’s exactly what your bosses want and they'd keep on twisting your arms until they get there… but I bet they did. They didn't ask whether you actually wanted it, though… or ask anyone else, about anything, for that matter." 

He reaches over Hawks' vaguely trembling shoulders for the jaw, forcing his face out of hiding. The grip turns gentler as the man's head turns in his general direction, though he's refusing to make eye contact. Dabi keeps him there like that for a while, dissecting him with icy, blue scalpels.

"Gentle like a dove… you'd have flipped the fuck out and been talking shit ever since I opened my mouth any other day. Is this the defense mechanism you developed for these situations?" There's some twitches to the corner of the mouth, but the other remains unresponsive. Heaving another, mildly annoyed sigh, he pries the hero off the crumbling wall with a disgruntled huff and turns to face him. Once there’s some space to work with, he tilts the head in his grasp to the left, to the right… no resistance. "To see you like this is creepy as all hell, birdie… do you even register what I'm saying anymore? Or is ignoring me the goal? Hmm?" 

He scoffs at the glazed eyes, then shakes his head. "I'd imagine you met some pigs high up on the food chain soon after the stunt… those monsters can do anything they want. Then buy silence from pocket change." He starts caressing the other's face as the trembling turns more and more into shaking. "Isolated, innocent eye candy kid at their mercy…… I can only imagine what they’d do to a sweet little plaything like you."

A visceral reaction makes Hawks' stomach convulse, threatening to empty itself, and the muscles in the rest of his body follow suit. Unwanted scraps of memories, all the blurred scenes, images and feelings he didn't quite manage to erase flare up in his mind. And even though his entire being is revolting against being reminded of hugs that felt off by a mere margin, of touches that were always, always distinctively soft and slimy, and things sometimes even worse, and much worse…  the sole thing that betrays his near perfect neutral expression is a pair of clenched jaws. What concerns him even more than any of this, however, is the fact that his tear ducts have been burning up for some unknown time, and...

… too late. There’s already a droplet of water sitting on the thumb Dabi lifted up a second ago.

The tear gets reduced to nothing between the pensive swipe of two fingers as he lets go of him. “Thought so…”

A sliver… a handful of cells, some unidentifiable part of Hawks is thankful that Dabi doesn’t elaborate on what he’s thinking right now, glaring somewhere distant both past the hero and his own damp hand.

The villain's eyes come back into focus soon enough. There's still… one more thing. "Then you started to grow… and they decided to focus on function over form, since your baby face would be just as marketable with a scruff. Becoming popular and following a strict schedule makes it near impossible for creeps to do as they please, with all the watchful eyes dissecting your every move… so you live on a leash instead. An accessory to show off to guests… and still shiny, new weapon to flashily beat up people with." He cocks his head. "And you loathe mindless violence."

On one hand comes the relief that the previous topic has been dropped as unceremoniously as possible, and he gets a moment to breathe and stop shaking like a leaf. On the other…

They are used. Used to hunt pests…

Having less than no time for himself, the daily drill of regular heroing and the overwhelming amount of paperwork the job comes with are things he can deal or cope with… It’s fighting, hurting and confronting other people he loathes the most, even if he'll ram heads with the bigger fish to ensure a more stable framework for everyone to live in. For… others to live in.

Forcing himself into a group of known murderers and the deception this comes with is just the icing on the rotten cake. God, all these fucking lies, he cannot look into the mirror anymore for being overcome with sheer disgust. And now he's stuck with it until the source of all Noumu can be located, too. Why can’t things be like a shitty cops and robbers chase and, just… easy? Simple? Is it really that much to ask for?

But what makes it unnerving is to know that Dabi’s right, always fucking right. About people, what a living nightmare being a hero is once one looks past the glitter covers, and pretty much everything else. But most importantly, he's right about him. He hates being predictable at all, not to mention being read with confidence, and right now he feels as naked as an open book with covers ripped clean off.

He can feel more tears break free, and his fingers scrape over the rough concrete, letting the bumps and glass shards cut a fingertip or two open. It's frustrating. Every single time they happen to make contact… Dabi either makes a good point or manages to get the upper hand in the most inane, little ways, and it’s so… frustrating.

He can’t keep bottling it all up forever, but what is he supposed to do about these feelings?

“What I'm not sure about… is what exactly they are thinking this time.” There’s a thoughtful pause before the continuation; every last tendon in the blonde’s body tenses up. “Are they actually this desperate to get us for good… or is it you they want to get rid of that bad?” 

For a moment that seems like an eternity, Hawks feels… absolutely nothing. Nothing but the piercing glare of the very sky above them, staring straight through the villain's eyes. “Psycho girl is right… you really have no idea how to say no.”

Why now… Hawks can't tell. But hearing the same shit he's thinking about for the millionth time makes something crack. Click. Snap. And next thing he knows, he’s already tackled Dabi to the ground and is clenching his fists into his coat; the man himself doesn’t look too surprised over the turn of events, which drives him even madder.

“Every,” his voice shakes with bubbling anger and is lower and gravelier than his normal, but it will do. Hawks pulls on the leather hard enough to lift the other before slamming him back onto the grey concrete--- “Every” --- over--- “single” --- and over--- “aspect” --- and over, “of you,” and over, “drives me up… the fucking wall,” and over… “any time you open your godforsaken MOUTH,” this time, he goes a little over the top, as the big yank is followed by a pointed knock upon Dabi’s head meeting the ground and his lungs flatten under the pressure of fists, but Hawks is not in the mindset to give a flying fuck about the minor inconveniences of the villain at the moment. Fucker has dug this grave himself, so he better lie in it. "how the everloving fuck... How…! How can you possibly know me more than I do?! TELL ME!!” He asks with an ever growing voice that borders screaming by now, all while shaking the man relentlessly.

He's about to pull and slam him down again when Dabi's hands grab onto his arms just below the wrist. Maybe it's that he did not expect it, but the grip definitely stings a little. As fragile as Dabi is, he thought those scrawny arms less powerful, but apparently what does he know? Still angry, he tears one hand free while shooting a glare at the villain.

There's a trail of blood flowing down his cheek around where Hawks' fist rubbed against at the time of the yank. Dabi blinks once, leaving his left eye with an odd pink texture as his lid smears the leaking red fluid all over it. Not too surprisingly, his face remains as unreadable as a mannequin's, and eyes as cold as that of a taxidermy specimen. Hawks hates looking at him when they are like this, which is most of the time. "Careful, little bird… you're tearing at the seams. Don't want to end up like this, do you?”

That calm voice works like just another taunt, making the hero want to beat him to a pulp, or at the very least, continue where he's just left off with flattening him into the concrete. At the same time… hesitation wedges his joints to a halt. No… No, he doesn’t want to end up ‘like this,’ whatever it may have been to drive Dabi into burning himself alive on a daily basis.

And he notices. Of course he does. Hawks could swear to see his lips curve, but it may just be the angle.

“Fucked-up kids know how to read others pretty well, don’t you think?”

Hawks’ still short breath hitches and he freezes upon feeling a hand, the very same he just shook off, slide over his hips, ice cold on his heated skin even through the fabric of a t-shirt. There's no real intent behind it; in fact, it feels like a doctor's indifferent, calculated touch. Somehow, that makes it even worse. "… didn't even have the decency to start stuffing you with testosterone from the get-go, huh?" 

Another statement that sounds more like a personal note than anything else, and it makes Hawks’ skin crawl.

“Well I can’t read you for shit! Congratulations!!!” He barks, slapping the intrusive limb away. “For starters, what was this supposed to be about, hell, why the fuck did you even come up here?! Just to gloat about it into my face? Or do you want to make fun of me for not being able to decide whether I’d rather be a cheeky bitch or the insufferable prick I am today?!” 

There’s tears streaming down his face again, but he couldn’t care less. It hurts like all hell… especially remembering full well how fucking much waking up from what was supposed to be nothing more than an open break surgery hurt- there was near nothing to remove, for fuck's sake. But claiming not to enjoy at least some aspects of what being a man brought would be just more lies on the throne built on them.

Mentioning his interest in IT and mechanics to strangers is not criticised or made fun of, not anymore. Neither is his tendency to run ahead of others in pretty much every situation. Instead of second guessing, people default to respecting and listening to what he says on any given topic in general, and he stopped doubting himself, too. The circumstances were a special kind of fucked-up for sure… but he also ended up having fewer weak spots than almost everyone else, which did come handy a couple of times. The hormones he received made him taller than he ever could have grown realistically, too. And rejecting fans is easier as most women- and most of them are women,- know basic fucking etiquette.

But he also wants cheesy tees with cats and birds and flowers that he never gets to sponsor. Cuter shoes that are still comfy. Some eyeshadow every now and then. Wear the prettiest blues and greens, and maybe… maybe a nice dress.

"… You are pissed for the same reason I am.”

By the time Hawks has processed the sentence, he is the one being pressed into the roof, with one wing stuck awkwardly underneath him. For a dreadful moment he breaks into cold sweat, because this also means that Dabi is between his legs, and--- fuck, this is the last fucking position he wants to find himself in, especially right fucking now. He doesn’t get to break out in panic, however, because the villain is busy strangling him against the lukewarm ground. It’s his turn to grab onto the other’s arms as he wheezes for some air. He needs to calm the fuck down somehow, otherwise he won’t be able to use his feathers---

“Looking at you… is like staring at a distorted mirror image at fucking funland.” Hawks cracks his eyes open, seeing Dabi stare right back at him. It's as if someone put goddamn transparency over the villain to make the blinding blue behind him visible. He’d blame cold eyes in general, but he doesn’t find Twice’s even lighter ones nearly this creepy when Dabi’s like this. His burn with intensity rivaling All Might and Endeavor, which have always made him uneasy.

“What a nice pair of custom-made patchwork monstrosities we are…” His voice delves into a hiss as the grip tightens over the hero’s neck. “… makes me sick to my stomach."

Hawks coughs under the weight on his throat. He manages to get some air in and think clearly enough to turn back to logical thinking; if Dabi wanted to go for the kill, he’d be toast by now. Motherfucker is just toying with him for the hell of it, isn’t he? He flexes his wings against the rough concrete and flips the two of them back over to where they started.

“Would you stop playing games, you *cough* sick fuck?!” he wheezes, all out of breath.

"Maybe you’re the one who should stop dicking around, bird brain!"

His next protest gets cut short when Dabi headbutts him in the temples. It feels half-hearted, but gets him to shut up for a moment nonetheless, which is all that the other needs.

"The fuck did you scrape us up from the floor for, HUH?! You had ONE JOB, and you could have been done with it just like that… but instead...!! INSTEAD you played nurse and started to GET ALL COMFORTABLE AND SHIT!” The villain’s voice is basically rolling like thunder over the forsaken plot.

Hawks’ angry and pained grimace twitches under his hand- he’s seen Dabi smug, and aloof, and crazed, but not… angry. Not to mention angry with him, specifically. And, once again, it’s one of those little, irritating, miniscule things that are… true. He didn’t get an order to stick around and follow the lead to the Noumu until like a week later, so it was all unnecessary and ended up being even more work and trouble than it was worth.

He didn’t have to help when he found all of them dying, bleeding and broken.

He also didn’t have to start talking to Compress and Twice and Giran, then all the rest as they warmed up to him and came to.

He wasn’t supposed to lie about their initial status, he didn’t have to keep covering for them after they were all walking and doing all right, after the decent person in him had already been satisfied.

And he definitely never meant to get… attached.

A pull on his tracksuit wakes him from the shock, just as Dabi continues screaming at him head-on. “And YET, there still isn't anything YOU want from us?! REALLY?!! Do you want to be a puppet for the rest of your life, idiot?!"

Well… Hawks had been called names before. He never thought that being called a ‘puppet’ would offend him this much, but that... that certainly just did it.

“NO, I DON’T!” He screams back at him, voice swaying all over the place.

"CAN'T HEAR YOU, BITCH!!"

"I SAID I DON'T WANT 'o!!” Whatever air's still in Hawks' lungs gets stuck inside as a wave of what’s probably fear washes over him upon hearing his own, distorted voice crack and echo in the empty parking lot. Realizing just how much he's straining his voice, a sudden knot manifests in his stomach that folds his rage into a small, jittery, awkward package.

“Ah… I,” It takes so much effort to squeeze out a single thing, what--- why is he embarrassed? “I don’t---”

The next word gets stuck somewhere between his thoughts and throat when the same cold hand from before leaves a little pat on his head.

"See? Wasn't that fucking hard, was it now." It combs Hawks' hair back, staples getting stuck here and there on the fragile strands. There’s nothing methodical about it this time; the entire gesture is just… gentle. "Good job, chicken."

Just like that… all that rage, despair and helplessness, along with the last confusing bundle of emotions, evaporates out of the blue, leaving Hawks empty and tired, somewhat nervous, and maybe a little… relieved. It takes him a bit to be able to think of anything at all, god knows how much time passes while he blinks blankly in front of him. It takes a rugged sigh from Dabi underneath him to phase back into reality; the scarred hand has long disappeared, and is tucked behind the villain’s head along with the other as he’s gazing at the passing clouds. The first coherent thought that crosses Hawks’ head is a fully formed fact- what kind, and with what purpose, he doesn't know or begin to understand… but this was… a test, or rather, a lecture.

A very… very crudely executed lecture.

Hawks sniffs with a stuffy nose. Fucking… fucking fucker. “… you are an asshole through and though, aren’t you?” And now he’s hoarse, too. Wonderful.

There’s a shrug… well, as much of a shrug it can be from someone in Dabi’s position. “I don’t believe it’s ever been up for debate.”

He sounds so smug, it's just so… ugh. The hero squishes his face with a palm in frustration before crawling off him at last. The annoyed grunt in response is all he needs right now. "Are you done being a nuisance, or do you wanna egg me on some more?"

There's a rare chuckle. "Already making bird puns…? Nah, little bird. Getting hell-and-back pissed is exhausting as fuck. You won't be any more fun today." 

With that, Dabi scrambles onto his elbows, then sits back up. He gives a quick massage to his previously flattened nose before rubbing the back of his head; there’s a number of fully formed lumps already. Feathers isn’t very gentle when riled up… at least the spot’s not bleeding. He'll need to put some painkillers to work, though. "Still… the manic look suits you well. I'm getting giddy just thinking about your bosses' reactions upon seeing you like that." In a move that is more or less successful, he licks a finger to rub the trail of rust off his cheek.

Hawks wrinkles his nose upon seeing a rather genuine looking smile on the other’s face. “Please. Noone in their right mind is in my face like you are all the damn time… at least not with the intent of driving me batshit only to make me murder them. You’re a freak case and should not be accounted for.” He sighs, resting his head on an arm- there really is no willpower left in him to do anything for the rest of the day. There better be no trouble on his late evening patrol, or so help him. Or help it, because there's no guarantee he won't snap back to this awkward beat-to-a-pulp mode if confronted with a no-name villain.

After some fidgeting, Dabi produces something from a pocket… something that looks very suspiciously like a worn blunt. “It’s because they don’t have to, dumbass… you are edging towards a nervous breakdown at any given time. Anyway, look… you are no doubt seen as an invaluable asset… but are worth so much more still. Give yourself some credit." Hawks peers back at him just as the conspicuous thing is lit over a wrist which gets shaken after, much like one would put out a match. There’s a tentative draw, followed by another. 

“What I want to say is… they are terrified of you, birdie. If not for the danger of exposing their disgusting practices, it's because they fear that their blue ribbon pet won't return from a hunt… for one reason or another. And, just for the record,” He breathes, offering the roll to him; “I'll gladly hold you back for a good scare."

Following a vacant stare and a blink, he takes it. It’s not as if this quite tolerable, for-the-hell-of-it mood of Dabi’s was new, but… he was seriously considering to strangle the guy a minute ago. When exactly did they return to casual banter? Hell if he remembers, or has noticed at all. God… this whole thing has him rattled real good. Hopefully a nap will get him back into the usual pace of things.

“I sure hope not everyone blows their sugarbird pocket money on beer and weed like you do,” The blonde muses once he can feel a different kind of fatigue set in, reaching the blunt back to Dabi. Hypocritical? Maybe. Won't stop him from nagging others for the same shit, though. Comes with the job.

“Well, Compress replaced the crumpled hat… and Tomura decided to save up for a new handheld,” Dabi muses, placing the smoke into the corner of his mouth. "It'll go via Giran, of course. After seeing the taxes on that shit, I can't even blame him."

Can’t help but smile at that. “You are all fucking hopeless.”

A hum is all he gets as a reply.

After a while of comfortable silence, the remains of the roll get snuffed out on the ground. Blinking past Dabi, Hawks can see the sun is soon to set. Fucked like two hours just sitting out here, didn’t he. The Commission better not expect much from today’s endeavor… cannot exactly tell them that he was getting high on the rooftop with the flame villain for a good portion of it, the only villainous topic being creepy fat cats and their own shortcomings. Or that his possibly biggest secret slipped, although they wouldn't give a rat's ass about that. Yyyeah… it’s best to bullshit it.

“Humor me for another minute of real talk, will you, chicken?”

Dabi’s voice drags him back to reality again, only to realize that the light has already turned into a warm yellow. If his bones… or rather joins popped now, he’d feel like the embodiment of a nice little bonfire under the sun. Huh. Guess the stuff was of the better quality to make him think of weird similes and turn his sense of time whack. What was he--- oh, right. He should answer.

“… cannot promise I'll be able to pay attention or remember any of it, but do your best, crouton.” There’s a mild prickly sensation in his wings and his brain feels like marshmallows. If only he could always be so calm.

“Don’t bullshit me, you barely had a whiff." The dirty remains of weed are flung over the roof in annoyance.

He can feel a goofy smile creep onto his face- it's nice to be the source of frustration for once. Maybe all he needs to do is be honest more often. "Second hand smoking goes a long way, bruh."

The initial answer is an exasperated sigh. "Shut it… Anyway, you should cut the sweet chirping and tweeting, birdie. No matter what you do, people take advantage of your position. You know this better than anyone else. So squawk and screech to your heart's content, if that's what you need… and if barking won’t help, get down to biting.” Having said that, he stops surveying the cracked parking lot under the golden sky, and turns back to Hawks.

He forgets to breathe for a second. Good lord… those eyes glow as if they were illuminated by blue fire from inside, and the contrast with the sunset is just… well, literally breathtaking, he supposes. This is among the few times when they don’t creep him out- quite the contrary, in fact. They still feel like X-rays, though. “I guess it really doesn’t matter… by the way, real talk question: can you fucking read minds?”

Not that he expected anything else, but a smug grin appears on the villain’s face. “Maybe~”

“Careful, man. Your pants are sizzling.”

Lo and behold, another rare chuckle. Despite being under the influence of drugs, (or maybe because of that?) Hawks is on a fucking roll.

He can't keep his eyes off those blue ones even once Dabi decides to stare back at him. “Jokes aside… suppose there really is an idiot like me out there, and they get up close and personal… put those clipped talons to work and gouge their fucking eyes out. You have all the means to tear them limb from limb… go all out, who gives a fuck. These are the same kind of people who shit on wild animals from beyond a cage, but watch them run with tail between legs upon realizing that the gates are wide open. And even if you weren't ready to dirty your hands or feathers like that…" 

He lifts a pointing finger and rests the tip on the hero’s nose. "One word of yours… and we'll make sure it's the last day they touched anyone. Understand?"

Really, all he can manage to that is a weak, sheepish smile. “… thanks,” he breathes, not knowing what else to say. He should be a thousand times more alarmed over basically being told that someone's ready to kill for him, and not… well, flattered? Touched? Especially since he knows Dabi means it, and so would the rest of them.

“Great,” the other grunts while getting on his feet, and leaning just a little bit on Hawks’ head while doing so. What a turd. Latter’s about to get his stiff legs working as well, but once the vague aching starts subduing, he can see Dabi stop in the doorway and put a hand on his hip. “… those filthy gremlins have been spying on us.”

Indeed… someone brought the hero’s scantily loaded bag to the top of the staircase and left it there.

“In that case,” turns Dabi around, flinging said bag over to Hawks in the same breath, “go straight the fuck home and get yourself presentable, you overgrown turkey. Might wanna decide on the new alias by the next time I call, too. You already know the rest.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he sighs, dragging the strap over his head.

Between the echo of boots, there’s a distorted farewell: “See ya, little star.”

Hawks stops in his tracks. He looks over to the empty entrance, and the metal door wide open. The sound of footsteps has faded into barely more than creepy sounds in an abandoned building- if not for his feathers, he wouldn’t even know that six other people are under the roof he’s standing on. Spirits and shadows haunting an old convenience store like many others.

He's nothing more than another ghost out here, and yet… he's never felt so real.

---

No matter what he chooses, Dabi will just stick to 'fancy chicken.' Also, I’m so fucking proud of that Red Starling. Not only is it obscure astronomy bullshit (much like the title of this thing), but it would be a nifty alternative to Hawks; just hit up a video on a flock (or, as I just learned, murmuration) of starlings. Shit’s cray.